


Pack

by softestpunk



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: M/M, Pack Bonding, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Regis extremely has a type, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: After the events of Blood and Wine, Dettlaff is in the wind, and Regis goes after him. Geralt assumes that's the last he'll see of his vampire friend, but when retirement gets too boring for him to handle, a trip to Skellige sees him rescued by an unlikely ally.As if things weren't already complicated, they just keep getting even more that way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is finished; I don't know how many chapters it is because I've got it all in the one document and I'm not sure how to break it up yet. I'm posting it one chapter a day to torture you (and because I'm on a deadline and I need something to look forward to doing as I inch toward finishing my Actual Work)

When the world finally started getting fuzzy between drinks, Geralt felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

Lots of things had gone wrong on the contract he’d been brought here to fulfill, but… he’d regained an old friend he thought lost forever, and he’d managed to save him, this time. That healed a wound his heart had never quite recovered from.

Besides, he’d been _right_. Syanna was the real monster. Dettlaff was little more to her than the lesser vampires he controlled were to him--a means to an end. A tool, as she’d called him.

That had raised Geralt’s hackles. Higher vampires, if anything, had deeper and more complex feelings than humans did. They weren’t mindless beasts. Regis was the deepest thinker and maybe the most compassionate soul he’d ever known.

Complicated, but wasn’t everyone? Geralt had made more than a few mistakes in his time.

Even if he’d wanted Dettlaff to suffer for crimes he’d been pushed to commit, he couldn’t have made _Regis_ suffer for it. Not Regis, who’d grinned at him so brightly when he’d seen him again that it outshone the sun.

Who’d taken care of him, and people dear to him, more times than he could count.

Who’d ultimately died for him, even if death had a hard time sticking. It wasn’t as though Regis was _alone_ in not being able to stay dead, and it wasn’t as if Geralt _wanted_ him dead, either.

The world needed more people like him, and since vampires were practically permanent fixtures…

“I’d offer you a copper for your thoughts, but I suspect I’d be short-changing you, my friend,” Regis spoke up after a long silence where he’d mostly stared up at the stars.

“I did the right thing,” Geralt said softly. “Letting Dettlaff go. Not for him, but… for you. I owed you that much.”

“I would have stood with you against him,” Regis said.

Geralt nodded. “I know. But you wouldn’t have _been_ here if not for him, so… I guess I owed him that much, too. I owe him you.”

Regis nodded once, slowly, and sipped straight from the bottle of wine he’d started in on. Geralt couldn’t stop himself smirking at that, his genteel vampire drinking straight from the bottle like a common bandit who’d just stolen a wine cart.

“I won’t pretend I don’t appreciate you sparing me the pain of having to kill a man I care deeply for,” Regis replied after a moment. “If you didn’t have my loyalty before, you would certainly have it now.”

A wide yawn told Geralt that, considering the hour, his state of inebriation, and how dark it was, he wasn’t heading back to Corvo Bianco tonight.

Instead, he made the arduous ten-foot walk over to Roach, retrieved his bedroll, and laid it out by the fire Regis had him start when he’d arrived.

“You could sleep in the crypt, if you prefer. There’s even a mattress. And I shan’t need it.”

“I’m not sleeping in a crypt,” Geralt said.

Regis laughed a soft, warm laugh that made something in Geralt bloom with contentment. He’d missed that. He’d missed the quiet fireside chats, Regis being by turns as serious and wise as an elven sage and as mischievous and playful as a small boy.

He missed the way Regis’ eyes sparkled when he made a joke, and the look on his face when Geralt felt as though he was trying his best to read his mind.

Vampires couldn’t _actually_ do that, he’d assured Geralt. They could manage a natural equivalent of an Axii sign, but nothing more.

Which was a relief, because he probably didn’t need Regis to know that he already missed him. Knowing he was disappearing to wherever Dettlaff had gotten to… that was hard to bear when they’d just found each other again.

He would have liked more time.

“The famed Geralt of Rivia, legendary witcher of song and story, is afraid to sleep among the long dead?”

“Yep,” Geralt agreed, knowing Regis would only poke _more_ fun at him if he tried to argue the point.

There was that laugh again, restoring a part of Geralt that he’d thought was lost forever.

“Then I think it’s time I took my leave, unless you’d like me to watch over you while you sleep?”

Geralt snorted. “Creepy even for a vampire,” Geralt said. “I’ll be fine. Killed every monster in Toussaint by now, anyway.”

“Except the one you just spent the better part of the night drinking with,” Regis said.

“You’re not a monster,” Geralt responded automatically. He knew that without having to think about it.

“It warms my otherwise room-temperature heart to hear that from you, Geralt,” Regis said, his clothes rustling as he stood.

This was goodbye.

Geralt kept his eyes closed, his heart sinking as the thought hit him. He didn’t want to watch Regis walk away.

“See you round, Regis,” he murmured, trying to pretend he was close to sleep. Regis would know better, see right through the act, but if Geralt was lucky, he’d play along anyway.

Regis had always been kind to him before now, even when he had no cause to be.

Geralt was counting on him staying that way.

He heard Regis move, walking toward him, then stop.

A moment later, something pressed against Geralt’s lips.

It took him a heartbeat too long to realise it was _Regis’_ lips, barely brushing against his own. They were gone before he could respond--before he could even _think_ of responding, decide whether or not that was something he wanted to do.

“Be safe, Geralt,” Regis whispered, too close to his ear, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind it as he stood.

Now Geralt _definitely_ couldn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t face what had just happened.

It was a vampire thing, he told himself. A normal vampire thing, that vampires did, when they said goodbye.

Not even the part of him telling the lie _really_ believed that, but he forced himself to think it at least until he heard the faint rush of Regis dissolving into a mist.

The incredible, overwhelming sense that he’d just lost something important settled cold in his chest as he drifted off to an exhausted sleep.

***

The network of nekker nests was one thing, but the fiend that had come out of _nowhere_ , which should have been impossible for something that big, was another.

Geralt could feel his sword arm giving out, his blood burning after three or four too many potions for his tired, hungry, injured body to handle. The fiend turned on him, ready to charge.

This was it. This was how Geralt of Rivia went down, once and for all.

At least he hadn’t… tripped on the stairs in a brothel and broken his neck, or something. This was a witcher’s death. Maybe not the most heroic after some of the shit he’d been through, but he positioned his sword so that he’d take the fiend out with him when it lunged.

His stomach went cold as he watched it come for him, the certainty that he was breathing his last breath settling like ice in his stomach, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

He didn’t _want_ to die. Not now. Not when he’d just gotten used to living again.

A low, guttural growl caught his attention a fraction of a second before the fiend was flying through the air--away from him--and then… nothing.

Well, nothing except the death-rattle of the fiend a moment later.

Geralt lay where he’d collapsed, his veins on fire and his stomach churning, wondering what the hell had just happened. A second fiend, maybe? They got territorial, but there weren’t enough of them left for a fight over space.

To Geralt’s utter, absolute shock, a familiar face swam into his vision, peering down at him with…

Not concern, exactly. Something else. It was a hard-to-read face at the best of times.

“Dettlaff?” Geralt asked, his voice rasping.

“Witcher,” Dettlaff said, inclining his head as though they were having a civil meeting in a tavern somewhere.

Geralt’s willpower in keeping his eyes open failed him, his body wanting to shut down into a peaceful, restorative sleep that he may or may not have ever woken up from.

The feeling of being lifted--first to shoulder height, and then _much_ higher--made his stomach swoop, but he swallowed against it, forcing himself not to throw up.

Dettlaff?

What the hell?

The brief thought that at least getting eaten by a vampire would save his death being a _complete_ waste flitted through his mind right before he passed out.

***

When Geralt woke, he found himself in a warm, comfortable bed. All of his limbs were too heavy to move, but the fire was crackling warmly on the other side of the room, and he could hear voices.

Dettlaff, which he expected, and _Regis_ , which he hadn’t dared to hope for.

His heart leapt despite the fact that he felt about one degree removed from death.

A soft, pathetic sound escaped him as his brain tried to force him to ask for water.

Regis was by his side within a second, delight flashing across his face before worry chased it. He pressed a waterskin to Geralt’s lips, allowing him two sips before taking it away again.

Geralt groaned plaintively, even knowing it would do no good.

“I know, my friend,” Regis’ kind voice filtered through to his brain. “But better a mouthful you keep down than a bellyful you bring back up.”

Geralt hated that he was right, but he knew Regis would take care of him.

Dettlaff appeared over Regis’ shoulder, giving him that same look again.

_Why did I do this?_

That was the look. The look of a man who’d acted on impulse and now didn’t quite regret his decision, but realised he’d complicated matters for himself by getting involved.

All the same, Geralt owed him one.

“Sleep,” Regis said, laying a cool hand on Geralt’s forehead. Just to check his temperature, Geralt told himself.

He remembered Regis kissing him. How the hell could he forget?

“Thanks,” Geralt croaked out, turning his gaze to Dettlaff’s face.

It turned to open, honest surprise immediately.

Which was the last thing Geralt saw before he passed out again.

***

The soft touch of fingers stroking his hair made Geralt smile as he woke, pushing his head into the contact only to be rewarded with the light, gentle scratching of claws against his scalp.

His blood had stopped burning. His stomach felt settled. His muscles ached, but he could walk that off when he could manage to stand up.

And he was being _petted_ , so things definitely weren’t all bad.

“Regis?” he asked, not quite ready to open his eyes yet.

“No,” a deep, ink-dark voice said instead.

_Dettlaff?_

The petting stopped.

That… seemed like a shame.

“I can stop,” Dettlaff said, as though he hadn’t already.

“I don’t mind,” Geralt said, though he did. He minded that Dettlaff _had_ stopped, and wanted him to start again.

After a few agonising moments, Dettlaff’s fingers started working through his hair as they had been before.

“Regis has gone to the nearest village,” Dettlaff explained. “For supplies. He’ll return later.”

Huh. Regis trusted Dettlaff enough to leave him in charge. Apparently they’d made progress.

It’d been over a year since they’d last seen each other, so that didn’t seem completely impossible. Especially since Dettlaff was _petting him_.

Not that Geralt was even considering the possibility of complaining.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Geralt said, finally forcing himself to open his eyes. His mouth and throat didn’t feel like they were full of sand anymore, so he assumed that Regis--or maybe Dettlaff?--had been giving him water while he slept.

“I…” Dettlaff began, and then fell silent. Obviously, he still wasn’t _quite_ sure how he felt about that.

Sure enough to treat Geralt like a damned housecat, but not sure enough to talk about his motives, or accept the gratitude.

“What made you do it? No love lost between you and me.”

Dettlaff was silent again for a solid handful of heartbeats, long enough that Geralt was sure he wasn’t going to answer at all.

“You…” Dettlaff began, obviously searching for the words he wanted. “Are pack.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Your pack?”

“Yes,” Dettlaff said. “By way of Regis.”

Geralt blinked, taking a moment to absorb that information. “Huh. I guess that’s…”

“It’s an honour,” Dettlaff interrupted before Geralt could pick a descriptor.

Geralt couldn’t exactly _argue_ with that. Dettlaff had just told him that he was part of Regis’ family. A vampire’s pack was their kin.

Honour was putting it _mildly_. But it was also a hundred other things, including completely unexpected.

Well. Maybe not _completely_ , considering, but… a surprise, nonetheless.

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed after a moment. “Yeah, it is.”

The door swung open downstairs, and Dettlaff’s hand left Geralt’s hair immediately, as if he was a child in danger of being caught stealing sweets. He moved across the room in an instant, dissolving into a mist and reappearing in a chair by the fire, book already in his hand.

Geralt frowned. He doubted Dettlaff was… banned from touching him, or anything. Regis wouldn’t have left them alone if he didn’t trust the guy.

The strangeness of Dettlaff choosing to touch him in the first place was only just now making it into the part of Geralt’s brain that thought about things like that.

Since it hadn’t felt remotely threatening, he decided not to think too much about it.

Regis bounded up the stairs, which, Geralt realised, was weird. It was weird that he bothered to be even a _little_ human around two people who knew he wasn't.

Old habits, probably.

“You're awake,” he said, rushing to Geralt’s side and pressing his hand to Geralt’s forehead again.

Geralt, who was developing a taste for having vampires pet him, didn't risk so much as twitching in case it drove Regis to take his hand away.

“More or less,” he said slowly.

“You look much recovered. Feeling any better?” Regis asked.

Geralt wet his lips, unsure how to answer.

A normal person would have been alarmed by how quickly he’d gotten better, but Regis knew him, knew about witchers, and probably thought his recovery had been painfully slow.

“Shit, Roach,” he said instead of commenting on his relative wellbeing, having just remembered that he’d left her all alone.

“Is perfectly safe and being well looked after. Dettlaff is very good with horses. Animals in general, really,” Regis explained.

Geralt's head spun. Saving _his_ life, that made sense, Dettlaff couldn't just let a pack member die if he had a choice. But saving Roach? That wasn't necessary. Hell, it wasn't even the same Roach as when they met, so it wasn’t _sentiment_ , either.

“I don't suppose you took the fiend’s head, as well?” Geralt asked.

To his surprise, Dettlaff nodded. “And collected the bounty on your behalf,” he added, tossing Geralt a purse.

Geralt blinked at him, then blinked at the purse that had landed lightly and accurately in the middle of his chest.

“Huh,” he said, looking down at it. “Well, that's yours, then. You finished the contract, you get the reward.”

Dettlaff looked at him, absolute stunned confusion passing over his features. “What would I do with it?”

Geralt shrugged. “Keep it for when you need it? Vampires must _need_ things.”

“Few,” Regis said. “And none we couldn't acquire ourselves, if necessary. Not unlike humans. But we do occasionally _want_ things.”

Thankfully, he took the purse and gave it to Dettlaff, which Geralt suspected would make it easier to accept.

“So… Skellige?” Geralt asked, surprised to find Regis _here_ , of all places.

“It's remote, and I hear very good things about the young woman in charge.”

Geralt smiled at that. “Cerys is pretty great.”

Regis snorted. “I should have known you’d know her. Never met a ruler you weren't useful to.”

“Her father was a friend. A good friend, and a good man. Saved my life with his last breath,” Geralt said. “I helped her get the throne.”

“Geralt of Rivia, kingmaker,” Regis said thoughtfully. “Your list of accomplishments never ceases to amaze. Do you think you could eat?”

Geralt’s stomach growled automatically at the mention of food. Regis chuckled and stood, disappearing from Geralt's view.

When he looked over at Dettlaff, he was reading again.

“Thanks for rescuing Roach,” he said. “She doesn't deserve the crap I put her through.”

“She does not,” Dettlaff said. “But she is very fond of you anyway.”

Geralt wasn't sure if that was a strange attempt at comforting him, or whether Dettlaff was _that_ good with horses.

“Sounds like more or less everyone I know.”

“Yes,” Dettlaff agreed without a moment's pause.

Geralt chuckled. He was starting to like the bluntness, especially in contrast to Regis’ seeming physical inability to ask a direct question.

“You manage to inspire loyalty in almost everyone you come across,” Dettlaff added after a moment, some emotion Geralt couldn't quite figure out hidden under the unnatural evenness of his tone.

Geralt was saved from having to respond to that by Regis reappearing.

“Do you feel fit to get up and sit at the table with us, or should I feed you myself?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

Geralt resisted the sudden, overwhelming urge to ask Regis to feed him, and forced himself to sit up.

The short walk down the stairs to the table made him ache, but he’d work that out with a longer walk later. No cure for sore muscles but stretching them.

It was only then that he realised he wasn't wearing his own clothes.

And that he felt surprisingly clean under the new ones.

Geralt swallowed.

He decided, firmly, that he didn't even want to know which vampire had stripped and washed him, though his suspicions went to Regis. That probably would have been a step too far for Dettlaff.

“I will recommend that you start with just the broth,” Regis said, passing Geralt a bowl of thin but richly-scented broth. “But of course, you know your own body better than I do.”

“Just barely,” Geralt said, accepting the bowl and deciding not to argue with Regis’ judgement. He wasn't in the mood to push himself right now.

He’d been wandering aimlessly for a while, though he wondered if the strange pull he’d felt toward Skellige had anything to do with Regis and Dettlaff being here.

He’d made the excuse that he wanted to see how Cerys was doing once Ciri had convinced Emhyr to withdraw his forces and propose an alliance instead, but it had seemed a little more urgent than that.

And then he’d gotten sidetracked with a few contracts. And now he was here.

Aside from the lingering aches and pains, he wasn't at all upset by the turn of events.

The broth was warm, and satisfying in a way Geralt hadn't been expecting. Regis wasn't a half bad cook.

Geralt looked up once he was halfway through his bowl, realising that both Regis _and_ Dettlaff were eating, too.

After he stared for a moment too long, Dettlaff looked up at him. “Am I being impolite?”

Regis looked up as well, then. “I daresay Geralt cares little for refined table manners.”

“You're _eating_ ,” Geralt said, confused.

“Yes,” Dettlaff said slowly, warily, as though he was expecting a trap.

“Do you… need to do that?” Geralt asked.

“Geralt, you know that we don't survive on blood,” Regis said.

“Well… yeah, but…”

“And you've seen me eat before,” Regis added.

“When you were pretending to be human. You don't have to pretend in front of me,” Geralt said, though he was slowly realising how stupid he sounded.

Vampires weren't spirits, they weren't really dead, and while they weren't from around here… they were still living creatures.

This just made them seem so… _human_.

“We are still creatures of flesh and blood,” Regis said, not unkindly. “We can… survive, without eating, but it is…”

“Uncomfortable,” Dettlaff said, with the air of a man who’d gone hungry before.

“Would it surprise you to learn that we also require sleep?” Regis asked.

Geralt desperately wanted to say no, but it did.

He’d never thought of Regis as having _needs_ before. Not simple human needs, anyway.

Because he’d never complained. Not once, not in all the time Geralt had known him. Regis had just been there, ready to do whatever needed doing, steadfast and reliable as always.

Dettlaff went back to eating. His table manners were fine. Probably better than Geralt’s.

“Broth’s good,” Geralt said, not entirely willing to face the fact that he knew very little of the man he thought of as one of his closest friends.

He knew the important things. He knew what was in Regis’ heart, that he was kind and loyal and wickedly clever.

But none of the little details. Not like he knew that Dandelion could be brought around to just about anything for a piece of honeycomb, or that Triss adored the soft herbal scent of celandine.

And he knew little about higher vampires except what he’d pieced together himself. It had never occurred to him to just _ask_.

Hell. Did that come across as disinterest? Geralt had been trying not to be invasive, but maybe he’d been trying too hard.

“I'm glad you're enjoying it,” Regis said, his tone as warm and congenial as ever. “Would you like to risk some bread?”

Geralt hesitated, and then decided that having a truly full mouth would save him saying anything else stupid.

He tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it in his broth, chewing happily and making soft, satisfied noises.

Now it was Dettlaff’s turn to stare at him, but Geralt couldn't bring himself to mind.

He didn't feel like a threat any more than Regis did.

 _Pack_ , Geralt's brain reminded him. He was pack.

The thought felt like a warm blanket around his shoulders after a hard day in the cold.

“Where'd the house come from?” Geralt asked. “It's nice.”

“It was haunted,” Regis explained. “But has since been taken care of. No local wished to move in, and the secluded location seemed ideal.”

“You took care of a haunting?” Geralt looked up at him, smiling. “Two vampires turned witcher. Am I gonna have to compete with you for contracts, next?”

“I could develop a taste for it,” Dettlaff said, surprising Geralt. “Hunting holds a certain appeal.”

Regis remained suspiciously quiet.

Maybe hunting appealed to him, too. He definitely had the strength and skill for it, and Geralt knew how he felt if he went too long without the chance to spread his metaphorical witcher wings.

“Got a few sirens to take care of next,” Geralt said carefully. “Wouldn't mind taking someone who could fly along. If you're interested in a trip.”

“I could simply-” Dettlaff began, and then cut himself off after a meaningful look from Regis.

“I would enjoy accompanying you,” he said a moment later.

“Great. Gimme a few more days and-”

“A week,” Regis insisted. “No less.”

Geralt caught Dettlaff rolling his eyes, and smiled. He was starting to see what Regis meant by them not being all that different.

“Five days,” Geralt said. “I'll rust if I sit around for a week.”

Dettlaff looked at Regis, apparently ready to take Geralt's side.

 _That_ was a helluva development.

“Fine. But not a moment less, and you _will_ rest.”

If Geralt didn't know better, he would have thought Regis was _sulking_.

“Deal,” Geralt said. Five days with an old friend was hardly an inconvenience.

Geralt was even looking forward to it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt woke to the sound of moaning, his nerves immediately on edge. Was Regis in trouble? Or Dettlaff?

The scent of arousal hit him just before he moved, pinning him to the mattress.

A few more seconds of listening told him that no one was in trouble. His ears burned as he listened to Regis’ soft laughter, the rustle of either clothing or sheets, and a deep, rumbling growl that had to belong to Dettlaff.

Regis and Dettlaff were screwing.

Wow.

Did they do that often?

Did they know Geralt could hear? And _smell_?

Distantly, Geralt knew Regis liked sex. A _lot_ , even, considering he’d been screwing a succubus at one point.

He’d just never actually thought of him _having_ it before.

Which was normal, because he tried not to think about most of his friends having sex, aside from the ones he’d actually had sex with.

A soft cry made his heart leap, Regis’ obvious enjoyment settling strangely in his chest.

It was very slowly coming to his attention that he was hard under the covers.

That was normal, too. He could smell arousal. Of course he’d respond to that.

His heart fluttered as he remembered Regis kissing him again, a tiny pang of need making his stomach tense up.

Did vampires even kiss each other? Was that normal between them?

He suddenly had a thousand questions he couldn’t even begin to answer. Wasn’t even sure he wanted an answer for.

Geralt’s hand drifted down between his legs, and he stroked himself through his underwear a few times before he realised what the hell he was doing.

He _couldn’t_ get himself off to the smells and sounds of Regis and Dettlaff. No way. Not an option.

No matter how much he suddenly wanted to.

He rolled over, hoping they’d both be too preoccupied to notice that he was both awake and _painfully_ turned on, and forced himself to go back to sleep.

***

The soft, satisfied air around both vampires was impossible to miss the next day, as much as Geralt would have liked to ignore it.

Neither of them gave any indication they knew he’d heard. Which, Geralt hoped, meant they _didn’t_ know.

When it happened again the next night, Geralt took that as confirmation that if they _did_ know he knew, they didn't care. Or at least, didn't see any reason to discuss it with him.

Which was fine, because no one had to run their sex life past Geralt. Hell, he wished that Dandelion would _stop_ doing exactly that.

He didn't _want_ to discuss it.

Except maybe out of idle curiosity.

Which was why he’d escaped the house and was currently hanging out with Roach, who was unlikely to surprise him at all. He’d had enough surprises over the last few days to last him a lifetime.

“She’s beautiful,” Dettlaff said, making Geralt jump as he materialised just behind him.

There weren't a whole lot of things that could make Geralt jump, so that was impressive by itself.

Roach didn't even seem slightly bothered by him. Maybe Geralt had finally managed to pick a horse that wasn’t spooked easily.

“Yeah, she is,” Geralt agreed. Partly because it was true--this was a beautiful horse--but mostly because he wasn’t inclined to argue with Dettlaff. Dettlaff had, so far, been a surprising advocate for the cause of not treating Geralt like he was made of glass.

He understood why Regis did it. They’d _both_ lost each other once. But it was a little hard to handle being hovered and worried over quite as much as Regis was prone to doing right now.

“How’s things with you?” Geralt asked, wondering immediately if maybe it was a bad question, or whether he had any right to ask, or whether Dettlaff was even remotely interested in opening up to him.

But he had sought Geralt out while he was alone, which Geralt couldn’t help but think meant something.

“Better,” Dettlaff said. “It has come to my notice that I haven’t yet apologised for the difficult position I put you in when last we met, and I must.”

Geralt turned to look at him, catching his pale blue gaze.

He’d assumed, after meeting Regis, that all vampires had eyes that were practically black. He’d even thought of it as a way to recognise them.

Dettlaff’s eyes were _very_ different. Clear and bright, absolutely crackling with life.

“Not the worst position I’ve been in,” Geralt said, because it was true.

Dettlaff’s actions weren’t _good_ , but he’d been used. Geralt had been forced to make much harder choices than that.

Besides, if he tallied up his body count for every time he’d let himself be used, Dettlaff couldn’t even have hoped to put a dent in the number. Dettlaff was ultimately _no longer_ a threat, even if he had been once, and Geralt had let plenty such people go before.

If he hadn’t slit his own throat for it, he’d be a hypocrite to slit Dettlaff’s.

Not that a slit throat would have made much difference to him.

He was even more glad now, though, for the choice he’d made. He hadn’t realised what Dettlaff _meant_ to Regis. Hadn’t known the full extent of what he would have been asking.

The fact that Regis had still agreed to stand with him if it came down to it felt all kinds of strange now, and Geralt was trying not to think about what that meant about what stood between them.

“Besides,” Geralt added when Dettlaff didn’t respond immediately. “I couldn’t have asked Regis to kill you. He owes you a life debt.”

“And now I owe you one,” Dettlaff said, unfazed by the implication that Regis _would_ have killed him.

Regis had probably told him. Told him the whole truth. Dettlaff seemed like the kind of man who preferred that to a comforting lie.

He remember what Syanna had said about how he loved. Unconditionally.

And he loved Regis. Clearly loved him. Which meant that nothing Regis did could shake that.

Geralt really didn’t get why that had been so distasteful to her. He was as broken and twisted as they came, and unconditional love sounded so good he’d been thinking about getting a dog before restlessness had driven him to leave Corvo Bianco.

He wanted _something_ to love him, all of him, without hesitation. No one had ever done that. There was always some part of him that people found distasteful.

“Consider us all even,” Geralt said. “I’m not gonna hold something like that over you. You’ve had enough trouble with humans using you for their own purposes.”

“Regis trusts you,” Dettlaff said. “And you have proven yourself otherwise trustworthy. I do not fear you.”

Geralt blinked, his brain sticking on the idea that Dettlaff might _fear_ a mere witcher.

Sure, if he really put his mind to it, he could inflict some damage.

But nothing Dettlaff couldn’t recover from, eventually. When you had eternity, a witcher was little more than an inconvenience.

Except…

Strange as it was to think, Dettlaff was a sensitive soul. He’d had his heart broken more than a few times in quick succession, been forced to murder his friend for his mate--who’d turned out not to think much of him at all.

And the way Syanna told it, he’d considered her his mate after just a few encounters.

A man like that was bound to get hurt often.

“Hey, how’d you find Regis?” Geralt asked. “At Stygga?”

Something fluttered over Dettlaff’s features. Not a dark emotion. Something more like… embarrassment.

“I was in the habit of keeping track of him, broadly,” Dettlaff said. “When I stopped hearing about him, I followed his trail.”

“So you were close before?”

Dettlaff cleared his throat. “No. We met long ago, when I was little more than a fledgling, but we were never close back then.”

“But you kept tabs on him,” Geralt said, feeling as though he was on the verge of figuring something out.

“Broadly,” Dettlaff insisted. “I listened for news. I had always hoped-” he cut himself off.

Which said a _lot_ more than whatever he’d been about to say.

Dettlaff had latched onto Regis when they met, and been waiting for the right moment to make that known.

Which he’d found when Regis needed help that only he could give.

Because Dettlaff loved Regis. Loved him fiercely, for a damned long time, and had been too… afraid? _Shy?_

Shy, Geralt decided. Dettlaff was, strange as it sounded, shy.

“I get it,” Geralt said, though he was more in the habit of making _some_ kind of move on people he wanted desperately enough to follow them around for a few hundred years.

He understood what had happened, though. “Does Regis know?” he asked belatedly. That suddenly seemed really important.

“Of course. I should not have kept the blackmail a secret from him, but I have kept no others. And I think by now you understand why I did.”

“Regis doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body,” Geralt said automatically.

Dettlaff snorted. “Then you do not know him as well as you think. He merely hides his jealousy well, and accepts it as a personal failing instead of the fault of the object.”

That was… definitely news.

“Regis informs me that I should also have asked before I touched you,” Dettlaff said suddenly. “May I?”

“Uh,” Geralt said, remembering soothingly cool fingers trailing through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Sure?”

This time, Dettlaff only put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it tight. Not vampire-tight, but witcher-tight. Hard enough to feel, but not to hurt.

“It is an honour to call you pack,” he said.

And then vanished.

Geralt laughed once he recovered from Dettlaff just dissolving into thin air in front of him. A vampire who didn’t _care_ about appearing human was going to take a little getting used to.

***

“I am forced to admit that you seem as healthy as I’ve ever seen you,” Regis said on the fifth day of Geralt’s recovery, after having personally inspected every wound he’d received in his last fight and finding that few of them had even left a trace.

“The blood poisoning was the real risk,” Geralt said. “Should’ve watched out more carefully.”

“You will undoubtedly be thrilled to know that your blood is also as healthy as it’s ever been. But I’m glad you’ve agreed to take Dettlaff with you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t say I said, but I’m actually starting to like the guy,” Geralt responded.

Regis chuckled. “I’m afraid he’s almost certainly eavesdropping on this conversation. He’s as eager to get out of here as you are. I didn’t imagine I was such objectionable company.”

“You’re not,” Geralt said. “You were right, about me and him being similar. We get restless.”

“Mmm, well…” Regis smoothed Geralt’s shirt back down from where he’d lifted it to check a particularly nasty gash in his side that had healed to a thin pink line and probably wouldn’t leave a permanent scar.

The permanent ones tended to be from claws, teeth, or blades that were poisoned and left wounds that took longer to heal.

“There are ways of expending energy _other_ than putting your life on the line. Study, for example.”

“Hey, I’m _out_ here because I wasn’t ready to retire,” Geralt said. “Not about to start now because you’re tired of patching me up.”

“I am unlikely to tire of that. I’d much prefer you remained among the living as long as possible. Grief is very hard for vampires to bear.”

Geralt couldn’t help smiling. Of course Regis didn’t mind.

He knew he still needed to address the subject of Regis and Dettlaff’s real relationship--they weren’t doing a whole lot to hide it--but he wasn’t sure how.

He wanted Regis to know he was happy for him. That he was glad Regis had _someone_ , someone who’d take care of him.

Someone who’d raze a city for him, because Geralt couldn’t pretend Regis wasn’t on the list of people he’d do that for, too. Except Dettlaff would have a much easier time of it.

“That why you’re letting me borrow Dettlaff?”

Regis chuckled. “Quite. Please bring him back in one piece.”

“I assume he’s on similar orders?”

“You assume correctly,” Regis said. “Are you planning to leave today, or to wait until morning?”

“Today,” Geralt said. “We’ll be home in time for supper, and it’s not like the dark’s gonna bother either of us.”

“Indeed. Then I wish you luck, and I’ll let Dettlaff know you’ll be down shortly.”

“Hey, Regis?” Geralt said, just as Regis put his hand on the door handle.

Regis looked back at him, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s good that you’ve got him. Dettlaff, I mean.”

Regis gave him a small, gracious nod in response. “It is,” he agreed as he walked away.

***

As it turned out, fighting alongside a higher vampire was _amazing_. Dettlaff hadn’t hesitated to get his claws out and draw every siren in the area directly to them, knocking them easily out of the sky and leaving them for Geralt to deal with on the ground one by one.

He let them chase him through the air while he waited for each of Geralt’s battles to finish, whooping and cackling every time he shifted to a form that had vocal chords.

Geralt dodged a strike from a siren claw, rolling and picking himself up in a fluid motion before thrusting his blade deep into flesh, pulling up to gut the wailing creature with one stroke.

His muscles burned, his heart pounded, and he’d never felt so _alive_ , knowing that he had backup he could rely on, backup he didn’t need to worry about handling himself, or getting killed.

The few knocks he’d taken ached, but it was a pleasant, distant ache, dulled by adrenaline and sheer bloodlust, Geralt’s joy in his own ability to just _do his job_ welling up inside him, making blood rush in his ears.

As the last siren fell, her shreik carrying out across the water, Geralt sheathed his sword and let his legs give out under him, panting harshly.

The grin on his face made his jaw ache.

This was what he’d needed. He’d gone too damned long without a good fight that he was well rested and prepared for.

Dettlaff appeared beside him again, throwing him a brief look of concern before relaxing as Geralt met his eyes.

He knelt next to him, resting comfortably, not panting for breath at all.

Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t _need_ to be, and he didn’t care about appearing human. Not to Geralt, anyway.

Not to most people. He’d taken Regis’ lessons about blending in, but he didn’t really seem to care about the _why_ of it.

Humans weren’t a threat to him. He was happy to go and live in a cave in the woods, far away from them.

Except that _Regis_ wasn’t happy to do that, and he wanted to be near Regis more than he wanted to be away from people. Must have been a helluva choice to make.

“You’re bleeding,” Dettlaff said, apparently not overly concerned about it.

Geralt looked down at the slash along his arm--a shallow cut, but bleeding the way arm wounds usually did, sluggish but consistent.

“Huh,” Geralt said, and then a terrible idea occurred to him, but he was so damned _curious_ that he couldn’t let it go.

“Do you… want it?” he asked.

“I will not attack you because of a few drops of blood,” Dettlaff said, the faintest trace of hurt in his voice.

“That wasn’t what I was asking,” Geralt said, plucking his glove off and offering the bleeding arm to Dettlaff. “I figure… it’s only going to waste if you _don’t_ , so…”

Dettlaff’s eyebrows shot up as he regarded Geralt carefully. “You offer it freely?”

“Pretty much. Think of it as a thank you for helping me with the sirens.”

Dettlaff swallowed, hesitated, and then shuffled closer, taking Geralt’s arm carefully by the wrist and pushing his torn shirt out of the way. He _liked_ the light, flexible armour he’d picked up in Toussaint, but the weakness of it was that his arms were mostly exposed.

Dettlaff’s tongue wasn’t _cold_ , exactly, but it wasn’t as warm as a human’s, either.

That didn’t stop a rush of heat searing its way from Geralt’s arm to his groin, pooling dangerously between his legs.

Between the rush of a good fight and the shockingly intimate act of feeding a vampire, Geralt was incredibly, _painfully_ turned on in seconds.

He’d read a book about this. This was _normal_ for humans, when a vampire they trusted drank from them.

Geralt had assumed it took a bite, but no: it was the act of _providing_ that was getting him off. That, and the strength and dexterity of Dettlaff’s tongue.

Dettlaff didn’t pause until he’d cleaned Geralt’s arm completely, the shallow cut already closing--helped along by vampire saliva, maybe?

Geralt got about halfway through thinking that he’d ask Regis later when he caught Dettlaff’s gaze, the crystal blue of his eyes so intense that it froze Geralt in place.

Was he being mesmerised?

No. First of all, didn’t work on him. Second of all, he was still in control of his thoughts. Dettlaff wasn’t projecting anything, not pushing at his mind at all.

Just staring.

And then he was leaning forward.

And there were warm, blood-stained lips pressed against Geralt’s, and his stomach flipped.

A soft whine of need reached his ears, but he had no idea which one of them had made it. All he could think about was the way Dettlaff’s body was moving closer to his, the solid weight of it, just a _little_ warm now--did fresh blood do that?

Geralt could taste his own blood on Dettlaff’s lips, and he had to be honest: that wasn’t entirely new, but knowing it was a _vampire_? That…

Definitely sent another rush of heat south.

He made a soft, needy noise, reaching out to pull Dettlaff in closer, and then all of a sudden remembered Regis and felt wholly, utterly sick to his stomach.

He couldn’t do this to him.

He put his hand on Dettlaff’s shoulder instead, only bothering with the lightest pressure. If Dettlaff didn’t want to move, there was no way in hell Geralt was going to move him.

_That_ thought didn’t help at all, the idea of being absolutely at this beautiful vampire’s mercy doing all _kinds_ of things for Geralt.

To his surprise, Dettlaff backed off immediately, his eyes searching Geralt’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gaze darting all over as though he was trying to literally read what Geralt wanted, or what he’d done wrong. “I… you seemed… you _smelled…_ ”

“It’s okay,” Geralt said softly. “Heat of the moment, no big deal, and you smelled right,” he added, remembering his earlier thought about Dettlaff appreciating honesty.

He was starting to think Dettlaff _needed_ honesty. That he was more or less Regis’ opposite in terms of subtlety.

“Then…” Dettlaff frowned at him, brows drawing together in obvious incomprehension.

“Regis,” Geralt said. “I can’t…”

“Oh,” Dettlaff sat back further, crestfallen. “Oh, of course, I should have realised your interest lay with him.”

Geralt blinked. “That’s not… I heard you… together,” he said, wincing at his own awkwardness.

He could be direct with Dettlaff. He _had_ to be direct with Dettlaff, and while he normally thought of himself as blunt, he realised now that he’d have to be a whole lot _more_ blunt.

“You and Regis are together,” Geralt said. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Dettlaff said, confused all over again. “We are pack.”

That got Geralt’s attention. “But you said _I_ was part of your pack, too.”

“You are,” Dettlaff said. “Which is why I assumed… I thought…”

“But Regis would be hurt if he knew you slept with someone else, right?”

Dettlaff looked at him like he was a particularly stupid variety of idiot for a half-second before wiping the expression from his face, and sighing. “He would _expect_ me to show affection for any pack member who desired it, as long as I desired to give it.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

Shit.

It was so easy to forget Regis was anything other than human. Even Dettlaff was better at _seeming_ that way than he thought, especially to someone like Geralt, who saw weird shit every day of his entire life.

Of course vampires weren’t like humans. Dettlaff was _right_ to look at him like an idiot, because he _was one_.

“How big is this pack?” Geralt asked, suddenly wary that he was about to become a plaything for half a dozen higher vampires.

“Three,” Dettlaff said softly. “Small, but formidable all the same.”

Three. Regis, Dettlaff, and… him.

“Wow,” Geralt said. It felt like a shame now that he’d ruined the mood. He could have gone for getting laid.

Dettlaff offered him the smallest, shyest of smiles, and something deep inside Geralt fluttered.

At least he hadn’t screwed up so badly that Dettlaff was never going to speak to him again.

“You are also very dear to Regis,” Dettlaff said, in a tone that suggested he was trying to cheer Geralt up.

It _did_ cheer him up, for that matter, but he had a lot of new information to turn over in his head. Choices to make that he needed to think about.

“We probably shouldn’t make him worry about us any longer,” Geralt said. An hour would take them back to the house Dettlaff and Regis had claimed for themselves, and by then it would be pitch black outside.

Well, an hour would take _him_ back. Dettlaff could be there in minutes, but he’d stayed by Geralt’s side on the way here, and they’d walked together, Geralt arguing that it wasn’t all that far and that his muscles needed warming up.

He was plenty warm now, but the walk would give him the chance to cool down gently. That might save him from hating himself in the morning.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt walked into the ex-haunted house to find a brace of hares roasting over the fire, fresh bread and cheese on offer, and a warm mug of tea that smelled sweet and floral being pressed into his hands by Regis, who had obviously been worried.

It took Regis perhaps twenty seconds to smell Geralt’s blood _on_ Dettlaff, and then another thirty seconds to check Geralt over for serious wounds, and ten more to process the fact that there were none, but Geralt’s arm was _covered_ in Dettlaff’s dried saliva.

All of which added up to him looking between the two of them, dismay written all over his face.

Geralt’s stomach sank.

Maybe Dettlaff had been wrong about how Regis would feel about it?

“It’s not how it looks,” Geralt offered. Dettlaff had defended him enough this week that he could afford to defend Dettlaff this time. “I was bleeding after the fight, offered Dettlaff the blood since I didn’t need it anymore, and then…”

But Regis had already made a soft sound of relief, his shoulders slumping.

“I was afraid you’d fought,” Regis said, the tone of his voice betraying just how worried he’d been about that possibility.

“And then walked back here side-by-side without incident?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

Regis looked at him for a moment, lips pursed in a thin line.

“Yes, well…” he allowed after another handful of seconds had passed. “You will forgive me for worrying about my two reckless, wayward children who cannot be left alone a moment without getting themselves into trouble.”

Geralt would have argued with that, but it seemed like a pretty accurate description. He shrugged, accepting the telling-off in the service of getting to eat quicker.

“We’re both okay,” Geralt said. “Please let us eat before we drop dead on you?”

Regis narrowed his eyes at Geralt, not appreciating being teased when he’d obviously been genuinely worried, but gestured at the table all the same, busying himself with putting the final touches on dinner.

Dettlaff sat next to him, close enough for his shoulder to brush against Geralt’s, and Geralt really didn’t mind that at all.

***

The smell of sex woke Geralt again, unmistakable even past the scents of herbs and brews Regis was working on.

He could hear it, too, soft gasps that he _knew_ belonged to Regis, and this time a barely-perceptible litany of _yes, yes, yes_ in Dettlaff’s voice, his eagerness for whatever Regis was doing to him readily apparent.

He bit his lip, aware that he was painfully hard again.

His mind helpfully reminded him of the rush of arousal he’d felt when Dettlaff had licked his arm, and then again when Dettlaff had kissed him.

His hand was in his underwear before he could think to stop himself, fingers curling around his cock, a soft hiss escaping him.

What if they heard? What if they realised he was getting off on listening to them?

That was a conversation Geralt really, really didn’t want to have.

He paused for a moment, listening carefully for any sign that they’d stopped, or slowed down, or might be interested in anything except each other.

Geralt swallowed as he heard a low moan from Regis, his cock twitching in his hand. If anything, they seemed _more_ interested in each other now.

It wasn’t as though he could really do this in secret, short of heading out into the forest and bathing before he got back. Even then, vampires had a _ridiculously_ good sense of smell.

But they wouldn’t be able to tell what Geralt was thinking about, and they couldn’t be sure that he’d heard them. As long as he stayed quiet and stopped if they did, he’d be fine.

At least, that was what he was telling himself, because it really didn’t feel like a choice anymore. It was get himself off or lie awake painfully aroused, listening to two vampires have marathon sex in the next room.

He let his eyes fall closed, squeezing his cock lightly to start with, letting himself get used to the touch. Heat flared in his belly, blood rushing down to his groin, the taste of his own blood on Dettlaff’s lips flooding his mind again.

And the soft kiss Regis had bestowed on him before he’d walked away, sweet and tender, still tinged with regret in Geralt’s mind. If he’d responded, _he_ could be the one making low, needy growls in the back of his throat, clearly enjoying himself.

Did he want that?

Judging by the way his cock was throbbing: yeah, he wanted that. He wanted Regis to leave him panting for breath and begging for more.

He wanted _Dettlaff_ , too, now that he’d had his first taste of a vampire fresh from battle, brilliantly alive and glowing with victory, eager to use up his adrenaline with sex.

Yeah, he was definitely getting the ways he was like Dettlaff. Geralt rarely got to actually _indulge_ himself after a good fight, occasionally taking comfort in his own hand, but his usual partners insisted on things like him not being covered in his own blood.

Dettlaff would have been into that. It was what had turned him on in the first place.

Regis… Regis might have had slightly more complicated feelings, but Geralt wanted him differently, anyway. Wanted his full attention, his careful thoroughness.

He was willing to bet Regis could keep him on edge for _days_ if he wanted. He’d have the skills _and_ the restraint to do it.

Not that Geralt was patient enough for that, but being thoroughly, utterly fucked until even his witcher stamina gave out had its appeal. Humans couldn’t keep up with him--and neither could elves, for that matter, though they were a _little_ better at it.

A vampire could. Hell, he probably couldn’t keep up with a vampire.

Another moan from Regis forced him to bite down on his lip so he didn’t echo it, his insides _burning_ with lust now, the thought of everything two vampires could do to him swirling in his head.

Geralt liked sex. No shame in that. He liked the idea of Dettlaff and Regis together, their sharp contrasts and similarities blending together, their strange softness and barely-suppressed violence channelled into pleasure.

His cock was leaking freely into his hand now, but if either Dettlaff or Regis had noticed the smell, they hadn’t reacted. They’d just kept _going_ , and Geralt had heard them come once each by now, but that had barely slowed them down for a moment.

Gods, he wanted that. Wanted to be fucked senseless by two beings who could _do_ it, really wreck a witcher and leave him wrung out and spent. There weren’t a whole lot of things walking around that could manage something like that.

Definitely not anything that Geralt liked so much, that he was so turned on by the mere _thought_ of that he was about to come all over himself just listening to them together.

His orgasm started as all-over tightness, his entire body tensing up in the second before he let go, knocking a soft moan out of him that he desperately hoped would go unnoticed as he came in thick spurts, striping his stomach and spilling all over his hand, all the tension flowing out of him directly through his cock.

Geralt panted in the aftermath, his heart pounding, and listened very, very carefully to see if he’d been noticed.

There _was_ a pause, and Geralt’s heart leapt into his throat, but then delighted laughter--from _Dettlaff--_ broke the silence, and Regis was gasping and moaning again, and if they _had_ noticed, then they clearly didn’t care.

Geralt forced himself to roll out of bed and clean himself up, not wanting to sleep covered in his own fluids if he could help it.

“You won’t upset me,” Regis said, so softly that Geralt had to strain to hear it. He was talking to Dettlaff.

“But-” Dettlaff objected, less softly.

Regis shushed him, and Geralt could hear the bed they were on creaking under him as he shifted. “As long as Geralt agrees, it would give me great joy to see you happy with him.”

“I…” Dettlaff began. “Not _just_ him,” he said, clearly unsure.

“Then you will have to get him to agree to share,” Regis said kindly. “And I cannot tell you if he will.”

Geralt swallowed.

He would share. Wasn’t even a question. As long as it wouldn’t hurt Regis, he’d _happily_ share Dettlaff.

That was a surprise, but he knew it as surely as he knew that he’d drown if he held his head underwater too long. It was so obvious it barely warranted conscious thought.

“Will you?” Dettlaff asked, still uncertain.

“Of course,” Regis responded almost as quickly as Geralt had. “I haven’t _entirely_ forgotten how to be a vampire. I would _never_ make you choose.”

“I will… ask,” Dettlaff said. “I would like… he’s…”

“I know.” Regis sighed. “I know how you feel.”

Geralt swallowed.

So Dettlaff wanted him.

And Regis wanted him, too, that was obvious, but… wasn’t planning to make a move? At all?

He was too tired to do much with that information other than store it in his mind, but he knew he’d need it later all the same.

***

Geralt rose early to collect his reward for the siren contract, splitting it in half as he headed back to the house so he could give Dettlaff his fair share.

Not that he needed the other half right now. He planned to give it to Regis, as thanks for looking after him so far and encouragement to keep it up, and he figured they’d just… pool their resources, for a while.

When they didn’t need to pay for shelter and hunting was as trivial for a vampire as tying a knot was for a witcher, there wasn’t much they needed to spend money _on_.

Aside from the few small luxuries Geralt had picked up while he was in town, somewhere between a thank you and the beginnings of…

Well, the beginnings of a seduction.

He knew what he wanted, and he didn’t plan on leaving without getting it.

He didn’t really plan on leaving at _all_ , not while there were still monsters to kill around here, and a higher vampire to do it with. Two, maybe, if Regis could be convinced he needed the exercise and that hares were beneath him.

They could put a real dent in Skellige’s monster population between them.

Regis was in the main room of the house that took up more or less the whole of the downstairs area, sitting by the fire with a book in hand.

Geralt smiled to see him like that. This was what Regis was _like_ , he realised, when he had a home among society, when he was just living his life instead of being dragged halfway around the world by a determined witcher on a mission.

“Geralt,” he said the moment Geralt was entirely inside, his whole face lighting up with a grin.

How had Geralt never noticed the way Regis looked at him before?

“Don’t stop on my account,” Geralt said, nodding to Regis’ book. “Good?”

“Informative,” Regis said, setting the book down. “I find the lore and history of this place fascinating. Especially as very little of it is incorrect legends about vampires.”

That sounded like Regis, all right.

“Dettlaff around?” Geralt asked, raising the purse containing his half of the reward money.

Something flashed over Regis’ face, but it was so fast that Geralt couldn’t hope to put a name to it.

“I believe he’s befriending your horse,” Regis said. “I… may have been unfair in telling you why he finds himself able to control lesser vampires. He simply… has a way with wild things. It’s endearing, actually.”

“What made you tell me otherwise?” Geralt asked, not accusing, but curious. It didn’t really make any difference now, but the inner workings of Regis’ mind were definitely something worth knowing as much about as possible.

Regis looked away from him, obviously formulating an answer, before sighing and drawing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

The gesture made him look suddenly, _impossibly_ young, despite his grey hair.

Geralt hadn’t missed that his skin was smoothing out, though, or that he had _more_ hair now than he had before. He was starting to look like the Regis Geralt had first met.

He was healing. Which might have been impossible without Dettlaff, and was just another thing, Geralt realised, that he owed him.

“I didn’t want to betray to you how very dear he was to me for fear it would compromise your moral judgement,” Regis said. “Since mine is, obviously, not entirely sound. My bond with Dettlaff is more important to me than any human sense of right and wrong, much as it pains me to say so.”

“Huh,” Geralt said, honestly surprised by that answer. He got that Dettlaff meant a lot to Regis, that part made sense, but the idea that Regis didn’t want to _compromise_ Geralt, that… that was new.

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

“Things might’ve gone differently if I knew,” Geralt said, as kindly and neutrally as he could.

“Which is my burden to carry. I regret many of the events that unfolded during our time in Toussaint, though not nearly as deeply as Dettlaff does.” He looked up. “It took me four months to get him to even _speak_ when I found him again.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. Four months was the blink of an eye for a vampire, but he could tell Regis had felt them keenly.

“You don’t need to convince me that he’s changed,” Geralt said, and then realised this was the perfect time to ask a question he’d been desperate to know the answer to. “Hey… I don’t know if you know, but how old is Dettlaff?”

“Would you prefer that in human, or elven years?”

“Human,” Geralt said.

“A touch over four hundred. Nearly my age, minus a few decades.”

Geralt hummed, realising that wasn’t really the question he’d wanted to ask--or at least, now that he had the answer, it didn’t explain what he’d been hoping it would.

“He’s very…”

“Naive? Bordering on the innocent?” Regis said, and really, Geralt had to stop befriending people who could read his goddamn mind.

“Yeah,” he said. “What’s with that?”

Regis shrugged. “A personality trait, I suppose. Vampires, believe it or not, are shy creatures by nature. Those of us who seek to surround ourselves with humans usually get over it. Dettlaff is not one to surround himself with humans voluntarily. Though it does neither of us a service to pretend he isn’t fascinated by you.”

“I’m not human,” Geralt said. He changed his mind on that point regularly, but right now, he felt _very_ at home with two vampires, and he was pretty sure humans weren’t supposed to feel like that.

“Indeed,” Regis agreed. “And I believe that is helping your case.”

Geralt had about a thousand follow-up questions, but he forced himself to save them for another time.

Instead, he took out the other purse and put it down on the table next to Regis’ armchair.

Regis frowned at him. “What’s this?”

“Money, Regis,” Geralt said. “You can trade it for goods and services.” He smirked.

Regis gave him a withering look, which only made Geralt grin broadly.

“I know. My question, poorly phrased as it was, was intended to determine why you’re giving it to me.”

Geralt shrugged. “Services rendered,” he said. “Gotta pay your healers, or they’ll leave you to bleed out in the street.”

“I would not,” Regis said, not even bothering to pretend to sound insulted. They _both_ knew he wouldn’t, not ever.

“I know. Just… take it? Spend it on equipment or books or whatever it is you want.”

“Geralt… is this because you feel guilty about your brief encounter with Dettlaff?”

Geralt’s mouth fell open. He knew Dettlaff had told Regis, but he hadn’t expected Regis to bring it up.

“Because if it is,” Regis continued, not waiting for a response. “You need not feel any discomfort about it. Vampires aren’t like humans. We’re perfectly capable of sharing. I’d encourage it, even. I imagined you’d serve as something of an older, or at least _wiser_ brother for him, but…”

Geralt swallowed. He wasn’t sure how to respond, here.

“What I mean to say is, you unequivocally have my blessing and I would be very pleased to see both of you happy. If you can agree to Dettlaff’s terms.”

“Which are?” Geralt raised an eyebrow. He knew, of course, because he’d overheard, but Regis obviously didn’t realise that.

“Best heard from the man himself, I should think,” Regis said. “He did ask after you this morning, when he woke.”

The tiniest flutter of his heart surprised Geralt. He hadn’t realised how _fond_ of Dettlaff he was, even though they hadn’t known each other long.

There was something endearing about him, definitely. A strange vulnerability, _innocence_ , even, that some part of Geralt wanted to protect, and the rest of him wanted to indulge in.

He just _liked_ Dettlaff, and he was attracted to him, and Regis was telling him to go for it.

“And you’re sure it’s not going to bother you?”

“Quite. Though… I should confess some momentary discomfort to know that he was able to, uh, share your blood, and I never will. I would rush to assure you that this is only a passing thought and that I am self-aware enough not to dwell on it.”

“Offer’s always open,” Geralt said simply. He knew Regis wouldn't take it--although if Regis told him that he'd be okay, and that he wanted it, Geralt wouldn't have refused him.

Especially now, knowing how it felt.

Regis smiled a small, sad smile. “You are really too eager to trust me.”

“You’ve earned it. And you drink from Dettlaff.” He remembered Regis talking about needing the blood of a higher vampire to heal, and he _was_ healing. Still healing. Which meant he was still getting it.

“Vampire blood is a wholly different substance from human blood. Though as Dettlaff tells it, witcher blood is _also_ different. He will ask for more,” Regis added, not quite a warning.

“Would you prefer I didn’t give it to him?” Geralt asked.

“He is perfectly capable of moderation. Enviably so,” Regis said wryly. “And again… I will not be upset if you do. There is no jealousy between us, and I want nothing more than for him to be happy. And you as well. So, if it pleases you, I would ask that you didn’t hesitate to share any part of yourself that you wish to.”

All of which was Regis’ way of telling Geralt that it was fine with him if he fucked Dettlaff. Which was, honestly, exactly what he wanted to hear.

What he _wasn’t_ hearing, what confused the hell out of him, was any indication that Regis wanted him, too. Maybe he’d misread that one kiss, maybe it really _had_ been simple affection, and nothing more.

All Geralt could do was take Regis at his word, and his word was that Dettlaff was fair game.

“I’ll go find him,” Geralt said, trying not to sound _too_ eager.

Regis shot him a mischievous grin anyway, and that, more than anything, made Geralt believe that he’d been entirely sincere in giving his permission.

“Please be careful with him, Geralt,” Regis said. “For everyone’s sake. You are a distressingly easy man to fall in love with.”

Geralt’s stomach swooped at the thought, but he nodded. “Dangerous heart to break, I know,” he said. “I won’t hurt him.”

Regis nodded, picking his book back up in a subtle dismissal.

Geralt took a deep breath, and went to find Dettlaff.

***

As promised, Dettlaff was with Roach.

He was grooming her and whispering to her as she stood almost perfectly still, save for the occasional swish of her tail.

Regis hadn’t been kidding about how good Dettlaff was with animals.

“I thought she could use a wash down, and a brush,” Dettlaff said as Geralt approached, holding up a coarse horse brush.

“Sure she appreciates it,” Geralt said, tossing him the purse and _knowing_ he’d catch it, even though he wasn’t exactly looking at Geralt.

He wasn’t disappointed. The purse landed in the middle of Dettlaff’s hand, and he frowned at it the same way Regis had.

“Your half of the contract payment,” Geralt said. “Probably owe you more, you did a lot more than half of the work.”

“I enjoyed it more than I understand is decent for work,” Dettlaff said. “Though something about the idea of having a _job_ is appealing to me. Regis has a job.”

“Hey, you wanna be a witcher, works for me.” Geralt shrugged. “Having you around was a nice change.”

“You appreciate my talent for destruction,” Dettlaff said, surprised.

“When it’s directed at things that need to be destroyed,” Geralt agreed. “You wanna learn, I’m willing to teach.”

Dettlaff nodded, the same tight, single nod Regis always made when he was acknowledging something, but not ready to respond yet. Geralt wasn’t sure if that was a vampire thing, or a Regis thing that Dettlaff had picked up.

“I wouldn’t hesitate to come with you on another contract,” Dettlaff said, so obviously eager that it made Geralt’s heart leap.

It made him feel like a little boy with a best friend again. Excited to have someone to go on adventures with, before they’d understood how deadly their adventures could get.

Of course, both he and Dettlaff were old enough to understand. That understanding made the companionship all the more valuable. Geralt owed Dettlaff his life, and he hadn't forgotten.

“Then I’ll see what I can find,” Geralt said, taking a cautious step closer to Dettlaff. He felt, ironically, as though he was approaching a particularly skittish horse.

Dettlaff didn’t back up, which seemed like a good sign. Of course, he could just mist away, but he didn’t look like he planned to do that, either.

“Regis said you were looking for me this morning,” Geralt said, not sure how to actually go about this. “Thought you might need something.”

“Merely knowledge of your whereabouts,” Dettlaff said. “I find your presence… pleasing.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Geralt said, smiling his kindest, warmest smile. It wasn’t even convenient flattery to talk Dettlaff into bed--Geralt liked him, liked being around him. They felt like a match for each other, and Geralt rarely felt _matched_.

“Truly?” Dettlaff asked, surprised again.

Geralt nodded, meeting Dettlaff’s eyes and holding his gaze.

“I was hoping we might continue where we left off,” Dettlaff said, wetting his lips.

“Regis said. He also said you had… conditions.”

Without warning, Dettlaff turned to mist.

Geralt had a single heartbeat to worry that he’d scared him off--and that Regis was going to _kill_ him for it--before he felt himself being pushed backward, against the stable wall, and pinned there.

Dettlaff rematerialised in front of him, their chests pressed together, hunger in his eyes.

“It’s still all right if I touch?” he asked, eyes searching Geralt’s face.

Geralt chuckled at the question. It was a little late, but he appreciated that Dettlaff was trying. “Yeah, go for it. Mind if I touch back?”

“I would enjoy that,” he said, already reaching out to touch Geralt's face, his claws just barely scratching Geralt’s skin as he cupped his jaw, thumb resting just in front of Geralt’s ear.

“I would never be yours entirely,” Dettlaff said. “Regis means too much to me to choose.”

“He said he wouldn’t mind. I don’t mind, either.”

Joy flashed over Dettlaff’s features, his whole face lighting up with wonder, as if he couldn’t believe he’d gotten this lucky and now he wasn’t quite sure what to _do_ with it.

Impatient, Geralt curled a hand around the back of Dettlaff's neck and pulled him in, moaning happily as their mouths crashed together. He parted his lips, eager to give Dettlaff access, and wasn't disappointed when the vampire licked into his mouth immediately, giving Geralt the chance to suck on his tongue, begin to learn the strange taste of him.

Heat flared up in his belly, tension coiling in his thighs as his body caught up to what was happening, the low purr Dettlaff was making in the back of his throat going straight to Geralt's cock.

There was so much _danger_ in Dettlaff's tightly coiled muscles, stronger by a thousand times than they should have been. He could have crushed Geralt without a second thought if he wanted to.

Instead, he let a hand settle on Geralt’s waist, light as spring rain, his thumb stroking idly as they kissed, apparently in no hurry to speed things along.

That was fine with Geralt. If Dettlaff planned to take his time, then he could take all the time he wanted.

Geralt was just starting to rock his hips when the sound of someone familiar clearing their throat made him stop dead.

“Much as it pains me to interrupt,” Regis said delicately. “There is a Cerys an Craite inside, waiting for you.”

Dettlaff backed off, but frowned at Geralt, looking for an explanation.

“Queen of Skellige,” Geralt said. “And an old friend.”

What the hell was she doing here, though? Skelligan royalty didn't exactly stand on ceremony, but being tracked down by the queen personally seemed a little… much.

Only one way to find out.

“Later,” he said, putting a hand on Dettlaff's shoulder and squeezing.

Dettlaff sighed a heavy, put-upon sigh, but didn't seem _too_ disappointed. Not raze-a-city disappointed, anyway.

“Maybe on a bed,” Geralt offered to further soothe the sting. “If you behave.”

Dettlaff wet his lips. “You will find my manners impeccable,” he said, backing up another step and gesturing for Geralt to lead the way.

“Why have I never thought of that?” Regis asked no one in particular as he, too, followed Geralt inside.


	4. Chapter 4

Inside, Cerys greeted Geralt with a warm hug that didn’t bother either of the two large men she’d brought with her at all, in sharp contrast to approaching any other crowned head in the world.

It was nice, for once, to be trusted.

“Geralt,” Cerys said warming, beaming up at him. “Am I ever glad you’re here.”

“It’s good to see you too, Cerys,” Geralt said warmly. “I was actually coming to visit, but… got a little sidetracked.” He nodded to the two vampires behind him.

Cerys beamed broadly at them. “We haven’t been introduced,” she said.

Geralt grinned, excited to introduce Cerys to two people who, if treated well, would be incredibly useful to her. Especially if they planned on staying in Skellige.

“This is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy,” Geralt said, gesturing to Regis, who gave a deep, utterly charming bow and a warm smile.

“My lady,” he said, his eyes glittering.

“Master…” Cerys paused, obviously debating which one of Regis’ collection of names she should use to address him.

“Regis,” he supplied after letting her consider for a moment. “Just Regis,” he added kindly.

“And this is Dettlaff van der Eretein,” Geralt said, nodding to Dettlaff.

Who, to Geralt’s genuine surprise, approached Cerys, took her hand, bent to kiss her ring, and then bowed deeply. “Dettlaff, please. At your service,” he rumbled.

The blush that spread over Cerys’ cheeks told Geralt everything he needed to know about what Cerys thought of that.

Dettlaff had promised impeccable manners, and he clearly intended to deliver.

“Friends of yours?” Cerys asked once she’d recovered and Dettlaff had backed off.

“Friends I trust,” Geralt said. “Who might be able to help with whatever you came all the way out here to ask me for help with.”

Cerys eyed both vampires carefully, then turned to her guards. “You two take a break. Geralt can protect me from an old healer and a merchant.”

Geralt supposed that _was_ what the two vampires looked like, though he doubted Cerys was entirely fooled.

The guards left without a word of complaint, nodding to Dettlaff and Regis on the way out.

“They're not human,” Cerys said the moment the guards were out of earshot, looking between Regis and Dettlaff. “Are they?”

Well, that saved wondering if he should try to hide it.

“We are not,” Regis admitted. “But we are peaceful, and as Geralt said, potentially very useful.”

For a moment, Geralt thought Cerys might ask _what_ they were, and he wasn't sure it would be entirely safe to answer that.

“A friend of Geralt's is a friend of mine,” she said decisively.

Geralt could feel the tension behind him easing.

“Good. Then tell us about whatever's important enough to come out here for,” Geralt said, pulling a chair away from the table for Cerys.

She looked a little more tired than she had last time he saw her, but there was still a spark in her eyes that made him smile.

“Do you remember the massacre at Kaer Trolde?”

Geralt nodded. “Hard to forget. Berserkers took out half the people in attendance right before Skellige crowned a new ruler,” he added for Regis and Dettlaff’s benefit. “The previous king’s wife was behind it.”

“And she was dealt with,” Cerys said. “But we are being haunted by it.”

Geralt looked at her carefully. “You mean literally haunted, don't you?”

Cerys nodded. “We’ve had two deaths. Closed off the hall to save anymore, but… people are hearing noises outside it, now. Questions are being asked, rumours are spreading. It has to be dealt with.”

“When did it start?” Geralt asked.

“Two days after peace talks with the Nilfgaardians began,” Cerys said meaningfully.

Geralt nodded. “Probably not a coincidence. You think it's them, or…?”

Cerys shook her head. “One of our own. One who isn't happy about a successful queen, or the idea of peace with the Black Ones.”

“Yeah, sounds more likely,” Geralt agreed. “Besides, Ciri’s in charge now. She’d want peace.”

Cerys nodded. “Which is why I hoped you’d help. You'll be paid, of course.”

Geralt shrugged. “Put us up for a few nights and we'll call it even.”

“You'll come?” Cerys asked the two vampires who’d sat down next to Geralt.

“We would be honoured to serve you, my lady.”

That _sounded_ like something Regis should have said, but it had definitely come from Dettlaff.

Well, he’d wanted to go on another hunt. Now he was getting the chance.

“Then we're off as soon as you're ready, Geralt.”

“I, uh… believe Dettlaff and I will meet you at your destination,” Regis said. “It would be preferable to travelling by horse.”

Cerys raised an eyebrow, but still didn't ask what Regis _was_ , despite that statement.

“They'll be faster that way,” Geralt said, shrugging.

“Travel however you like,” Cerys said. “Geralt can tell me all his new stories on the road.”

***

Kaer Trolde was more or less as Geralt remembered it from his last visit, which was more or less what he’d expected. Nothing much ever changed in Skellige, which was why Geralt liked the place so much.

The trip had seen them stopping overnight to make camp, and for just a few moments as he fell asleep, Geralt had been aware of the scents of Regis and Dettlaff’s mist forms, Dettlaff brushing lightly through his hair, Regis squeezing his arm just hard enough to let Geralt know he was there, too, and watching over him.

Geralt had never wanted to be watched over before in his life, but he’d also never felt more comforted as he fell asleep.

Now, he was stripping off for the warm bath that had been drawn for him, and waiting for his two absent vampires to show up.

Almost the moment he had that thought, the sound of a vampire materialising behind him caught him off-guard.

He turned to see Dettlaff standing there, calm as ever.

“No one ever taught you how to knock?” Geralt asked, and then realised it was entirely possible that no one _had_.

“I hadn’t imagined your sensibilities to be that delicate,” Dettlaff said, sweeping over to a chair at the side of the room and sitting down.

Geralt sighed. Dettlaff didn’t mean any harm by it, and it wasn’t as though Geralt really _minded_.

He could feel Dettlaff’s gaze on him as he climbed into the hot water, which wasn’t bad at _all_.

“You and Regis settling in okay?” Geralt asked, and then had a thought. “You _have_ announced yourselves, haven’t you?”

Dettlaff snorted. “Regis has impressed upon me the necessity of appearing more-or-less human in a very well-guarded fortress where you are vouching for our trustworthiness.”

“You think he’s being dramatic,” Geralt said, reading between the lines.

“If someone threatened you, I would simply kill them,” Dettlaff said, and that probably _shouldn’t_ have sounded like a good thing, but warmth bloomed in Geralt’s chest anyway at the absolute certainty that Dettlaff had already decided Geralt was worth killing for.

“Let’s try to avoid that,” Geralt said, letting his eyes fall closed. If Dettlaff wanted to watch him bathe, so be it.

“May I wash your hair?” Dettlaff asked after a handful of heartbeats.

Geralt looked over at him, surprised by the question, but Dettlaff looked like he genuinely wanted to do that.

After a moment’s consideration, Geralt shrugged. “If you want,” he said, wondering at the swarm of butterflies that had just taken off in his stomach.

Lust was easy to process, but this… this was _affection_ , and Geralt wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it.

Other than grab it with both hands and hope desperately that it wasn’t about to be turned against him.

Although, if there was one person in the whole world Geralt could trust not to use his feelings, it was probably Dettlaff. He understood, keenly, how much that hurt.

Dettlaff stood, grabbing the small washbasin set off to the side of the room and the chair he’d been sitting on and bringing them both over to sit behind Geralt, filling the basin with warm water from the tub on the way past and retrieving the soap Geralt had left floating in the water.

Geralt let his head fall back, sighing softly as Dettlaff poured a handful of water over his scalp.

“Starting to think you’ve got a thing for my hair,” Geralt said.

“I do,” Dettlaff responded. “It’s very soft. I like the way it feels against my fingers.”

Geralt wasn’t exactly sure what kind of answer he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been one that was so… sincere, and direct, and _simple_.

Dettlaff wasn’t giving him a speech about vampire customs including grooming or anything, which was what Geralt had _assumed_ was going on.

He just liked the way his hair felt.

Which made a lot of sense, because Geralt liked the way other people’s hair felt, too, but it had never occurred to him to just _say_ so.

“Oh,” he responded after a moment.

“Does that disturb you?” Dettlaff asked, already setting about the task of scrubbing Geralt’s hair clean.

“No,” Geralt said. “No, it’s… kinda nice, actually.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Dettlaff murmured. “You are a wealth of sensory delights.”

And that, apparently, was exactly what Geralt wanted to hear. Something inside him gave, the last of his reservations melting away.

“You could undress, if you wanted,” Geralt said, tipping his head back to look at Dettlaff once the vampire was done with his hair and had wrung it out carefully.

Dettlaff stared at him for a long moment, and then shrugged his coat off, folding it over the chair he’d vacated with surprising neatness.

Not that it _should_ have been a surprise. Dettlaff was obviously well-groomed, and the fact that Regis _wasn’t_ didn’t mean anything about the rest of the species. Vampires were like humans, or elves, or dwarves. All of them different.

Geralt watched as Dettlaff shed the layers of his clothing, slowly revealing corded muscles covered in perfect skin, so pale that the lines of veins stood out starkly against it where they ran near the surface.

Geralt felt his cock stir as Dettlaff stripped methodically, glowing in the fire light, the angles of his body highlighted by the dancing flames. It’d been a while since he’d had a man undress for him, but it was just as exciting as ever.

The low throb of arousal in Geralt’s belly made him sigh happily, not _quite_ ready to get out of the tub just yet.

Dettlaff was just starting to work on the fastenings of his trousers when there was a knock on the door.

“It’s only me,” Regis called through it.

Normally, Geralt was always happy to see Regis.

Right now, less so. He’d been so _close_ , and hadn’t they been interrupted enough times already?

“Come in,” he called, figuring Regis had seen Dettlaff half-dressed before now.

Regis slipped inside, his eyes widening the moment he took in the scene.

“I’m interrupting,” he said, making no move to leave in light of this discovery.

Geralt didn’t even need to _look_ at Dettlaff to see him raising an eyebrow. He could feel the expression in the air around them, a combination of annoyance and faint amusement.

It wasn’t even that Geralt would have minded if Regis was here to _join in_ , but he was clearly here to completely interrupt.

“I’ve been tasked with informing you that you are both expected at dinner shortly,” Regis said. “I don’t think you have time to…”

Geralt bit his tongue to stop himself from saying he could be quick if he was motivated.

Not that he wanted this to be quick. Quick was fine with a partner you had all the time, one you knew head to toe and could get away with getting off now as a promise for more later, but Dettlaff wasn’t that kind of partner.

Not yet, anyway. Some part of Geralt already knew that he _could_ be, and he wasn’t nearly concerned enough about that.

A witcher screwing a vampire. Once, fine, they’d all fucked their share of monsters.

But considering a long-term arrangement? Vesemir would have _murdered_ him.

Geralt sighed and rose from the tub.

Regis didn’t even _blink_ , and he certainly didn’t look away. Geralt couldn’t quite remember if he’d ever seen him entirely naked before--he probably had, and even if he hadn’t, he was four-hundred years old. And a surgeon.

Geralt wasn’t sure why he’d even considered the possibility that Regis would care enough to look away.

Dettlaff didn’t, either, and Geralt should have been a lot more concerned about two vampires watching him get out of a bath, but he wasn’t. He trusted these particular vampires more than he trusted most humans.

Which in Regis’ case was entirely earned, but in Dettlaff’s case was more of a gut feeling. Dettlaff was harmless unless provoked.

Not unlike Geralt.

“Think I need to dress up for this?” Geralt asked, drying himself off with the towel Dettlaff had handed him.

“I was also informed there had been suitable attire left in your room. I suspect you’re being shown off,” Regis said. “A reminder that Cerys has a number of powerful friends.”

Geralt nodded. He wasn’t exactly _surprised_ , and he wasn’t unused to it, either. At least Cerys wasn’t getting off on the idea of being able to control Geralt the way some other people Geralt could name did.

And at least Skelligan formalwear had room to move. Room to fight, even, if necessary.

That was probably why it was designed the way it was. In case of brawls breaking out at formal banquets.

“But she’s not making you two dress up?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, on the contrary, we have also been provided for. So I’m afraid I have to whisk Dettlaff away.”

Geralt sighed.

Dettlaff nodded, throwing his shirt and coat back on, but leaving off the brocade vest he’d been wearing earlier. “Later, witcher,” he said as he followed Regis out of the room. “I can be very patient.”

Another rush of arousal hit Geralt in the gut as he watched the two vampires leave.

He really didn’t want to sit through a formal dinner right now.

***

Thankfully, Cerys had decided on a low-key affair for dinner, with a few important people in attendance. Geralt was pleased to discover that Hjalmar had gotten engaged to a pretty girl with fire in her eyes, but sense in her speech.

He sure as hell _needed_ someone like that.

It wasn’t all that bad, considering, and as Geralt sipped a light ale and watched the sky darken through the high windows, he couldn’t bring himself to be all that upset about having been dragged into it.

Even if, as Regis had said, he was _definitely_ being shown off.

Not that he minded telling stories. He’d even told a few from Toussaint, though he was careful not to talk about why he’d been brought there in the first place.

No one in the room needed to hear that Dettlaff had gotten a contract put on his head.

Now that Geralt had a lot more detail, he could see it as a frightened, cornered vampire lashing out--and while he’d rained down a whole lot of destruction, it was proportional to his power. It had been a momentary lapse, the snapping of a creature under a _lot_ of stress, hurt, and betrayal desperately seeking an outlet.

Geralt wasn’t innocent of having done the same thing.

Vampires were capable of much, much worse than that. Dettlaff still hadn’t been _right_ , but he’d been forgivable. He clearly saw it as a mistake, and they were the actions of a man in pain with nowhere constructive to direct it.

Geralt trusted Regis, and he _knew_ Regis had done worse. He also knew Regis regretted it, and had changed.

It wasn’t as hard to accept as it maybe should have been.

“Are you unwell?” Dettlaff asked softly, two fingers extended to brush lightly against Geralt’s arm. He looked ridiculously natural in the dark, simply-embroidered tunic he’d been provided with.

Regis had made no attempt to improve his grooming standards at all, but he had the kind of charm about him that meant people never commented. Between that and the brightly-coloured outfit that would have put Dandelion to shame, he had quickly become the centre of attention.

He obviously loved that, and was happily sharing what seemed like every morsel of knowledge he’d picked up over the last four centuries with anyone who’d listen. He adored an audience.

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure what other people saw when they looked at Regis--whether they noticed his general untidiness, or the sharpness of his eyes first.

Geralt couldn’t even remember what _he’d_ noticed first, anymore. He knew Regis too well now to be fooled by anything about the way he _looked_.

“I’m fine,” Geralt said, turning to Dettlaff. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You are eating poorly,” Dettlaff responded.

Geralt shrugged. “Not a huge fan of walking into a fight on a full stomach,” he explained. “I guess you don’t get nauseous?”

Dettlaff shook his head. “No.”

Geralt snorted. Of course he didn’t.

“Coming with me to investigate these ghosts?” Geralt asked. “Could use the backup.”

“I cannot wield a silver weapon. Not without giving myself away, in any case.”

That didn’t sound like a _no_ , though. Dettlaff sounded disappointed.

“Still need to figure out what’s keeping them here and do something about that,” Geralt said. “You can see in the dark, so…”

“I wouldn’t be entirely useless?” Dettlaff asked.

Geralt shook his head. “Not useless at all. Might even be able to push me out of the way if one of them sneaks up on me.”

Dettlaff hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. “Then I shall accompany you. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until I get you out of there in one piece,” Geralt said. “Spectres could do some damage if you’re not careful.”

“I will heal,” Dettlaff said simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regis says vampires are not affected by silver but game-canon says they are, it's a fairly important detail of Dettlaff's backstory, and also, Regis is arguably full of shit at the best of times and probably smart enough not to give general company a comprehensive list of weaknesses so: silver, it's bad for vampires.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all gonna be okay don't worry

As it turned out, it wasn’t the spectres Dettlaff had to worry about.

It was Geralt himself, hurling two bombs filled with silver shards at them. There’d been too many, and he normally wouldn’t have resorted to it, but he’d been surrounded, lost track of Dettlaff, and, to his shame, panicked.

When the room was cleared, Geralt looked frantically for the vampire only to find him slumped against a pillar, his left side covered in a smattering of silver shards from his ear to his arm.

He was _breathing_ , which Geralt knew was the opposite of good. The breathing was to regulate the pain, give him something else to focus on. His chest heaved with every unnecessary breath, body trembling on every exhale.

Geralt had taken more than a couple of hits himself, and wasn’t in much better shape.

All the same, he limped his way over to Dettlaff and levered him off the ground. Dettlaff growled, like an injured, cornered animal, but Geralt held him firm.

“We need to get you somewhere safe and pick those shards out,” Geralt said. “Don’t fight me.”

Dettlaff growled again, but cooperated this time, letting Geralt guide him out of the hall.

He waved away concerned guards with his heart in his throat, fear that if they looked too closely at Dettlaff right now that they’d see _exactly_ what he was welling up in his chest. He couldn’t let that happen.

_Not human_ was one thing, _vampire_ was another.

Regis nearly barrelled into them, fear written all over his face. He paused, reaching out to Dettlaff, and then put himself under his other shoulder, apparently realising that was all he could do in front of witnesses.

If Regis, who looked a hundred years old and as though he might snap in a strong enough breeze, picked up another human being like they weighed nothing, people would have noticed.

As it was, they both managed to drag Dettlaff back to the room Regis had been staying in and drop him to the bed.

“You’re bleeding,” Regis said as they closed the door. “Quite badly.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt responded, moving to Dettlaff’s side to assess the damage, decide what he needed to do. “Tweezers,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

“Sit down, Geralt,” Regis said, his voice eerily calm. “Your wounds are far more critical.”

A whimper from Dettlaff made Geralt’s heart clench. This was his _fault_ , and he needed to make it right.

“I’ll be fine.”

“There’s every chance he’ll bite you in this state. He’s not himself,” Regis warned, obviously not about to give this up. “Leave him to me.”

“No,” Geralt said, meeting Regis’ eyes. “ _No_. This is my fault, so it’s my responsibility.”

“Geralt-”

“Regis,” Geralt interrupted. “You wanna clean and stitch where I’m bleeding? Go for it. But do it while I help him.”

Regis looked at Geralt for three heartbeats, and then sighed in defeat. He opened his ever-present satchel and extracted a small sewing kit that Geralt knew was rarely used for buttons.

The tweezers, he passed to Geralt.

Geralt sat on the edge of the bed, giving himself a moment to think about where to start. He reached out, knowing he needed to put a hand on Dettlaff’s face to steady his head, and hesitated for just a moment.

If Dettlaff _did_ bite him, he’d probably deserve it. Besides, he’d live.

He rested his hand over Dettlaff’s mouth, turning his cheek so he could get at the worst of the damage, feeling quick, shallow breaths against his fingers.

“It’s just me,” Geralt said as soothingly as he could, wincing as Regis cut… no, _ripped_ him out of his trousers and swiped at the wound he’d taken on his thigh with alcohol to clean it.

It stung, but he’d come out of this in better shape than Dettlaff. He could see that the shards were faintly smoking, the silver burning him the whole time it was embedded in his skin.

Dettlaff growled again as Geralt plucked the first shard out, dropping onto the nightstand. He didn’t let that stop him, though, working quickly and methodically, being sure not to leave anything behind.

The wounds didn’t close _nearly_ as quickly as they should have, but by the time Geralt was done, they’d faded to cat scratches.

Dettlaff was still breathing hard as Regis finished with the last of Geralt’s wounds. Shock, Geralt supposed, surprise at how much pain something like that could cause him.

That was what those bombs were _for_. To incapacitate things that couldn’t handle silver.

They were meant to hurt.

Geralt had never seen what they could do to someone he cared about before.

“That was careless,” Regis said, his tone ice cold.

Geralt looked at him, surprised. He wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ heard Regis talk to him like that.

He deserved it, though. He had been careless, and he’d gotten Dettlaff hurt.

Instead of arguing, he turned his face away, reaching out to stroke Dettlaff’s uninjured cheek. Dettlaff made a soft, unhappy sound at first, still not entirely himself, and then relaxed as Geralt kept touching him, soothing away the hurt.

“That won’t do any permanent damage, will it?” Geralt asked.

“No damage,” Regis confirmed. “More of a shock than anything.”

Geralt nodded. “I’ll stay with him,” he said, though what he meant was: I’m not moving and there’s no point in telling me to unless you’re planning to move me yourself.

Regis was silent, which prompted Geralt to look at him again. “You’re not afraid he’ll bite? You’ve seen him react to being hurt before.”

“He won’t,” Geralt said. “At least, if he does, he won’t kill me. I trust him the same as I trust you.”

Realisation flashed over Regis’ features. “You’ve fallen for him,” he said.

He sounded heartbroken, though he was obviously trying to hide it.

Geralt had no idea what to do with that information, or why it would be true, but he knew what he was hearing. He remembered hearing it from Triss, too, when he’d gotten his memories back and-

Oh.

_Oh_.

The words _you are a distressingly easy man to fall in love with_ floated back to him, and Geralt immediately felt like an idiot for not understanding them in the first place.

“Regis,” Geralt said softly, sighing. “I never know what to do with you.”

Regis raised an eyebrow.

“You spent so much time keeping me at arm’s length that I’d actually started to think you weren’t interested. But then… you think of me as part of your pack, don’t you?”

Regis’ eyes widened.

“You _know_ ,” he said, glancing at Dettlaff, obviously realising where the information had come from. “I had… I never intended to say… I would never have considered the _imposition_ …”

“I don’t feel imposed on,” Geralt said. “I feel honoured.”

Beside him, Dettlaff made a soft sound, settling into a light doze.

“You don’t understand,” Regis said, something that was almost panic in his voice. “The responsibility, the _obligation_ …”

“Keep each other safe and happy, right?” Geralt said. “That’s what’s at the heart of it.”

Regis’ tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I suppose, but…”

“Regis, I understand. Dettlaff’s told me some of it and I’ve… worked out the rest,” he said. “Mostly. You might have to guide me through a faux pas or two.”

To Geralt’s surprise, Regis snorted. “Suddenly concerned with etiquette after a lifetime of holding the very concept in contempt?”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t wanna insult my pack mates. Wouldn’t want them to kick me out.”

“It would take a very grave offence indeed,” Regis said. “And your complete lack of social grace is one of the things I hold most dear about you.”

Geralt turned his head to glance at Dettlaff, laughing softly to himself. “You’ve got a type.”

Regis looked away, pretending to be fascinated by a spot on the rug in front of him. If vampires could blush, he would have been doing it.

“You would truly accept a pack bond?” Regis asked. “Knowing all you know of vampires, seeing all you’ve seen? Of myself and Dettlaff specifically?”

“I thought I already had,” Geralt said. “I thought you _knew_.”

The look on Regis’ face told him that he didn’t need to clarify what he thought Regis knew. It could go unspoken between them for now, be saved for a moment when it’d come out softer, like they both deserved.

Unconditional love sounded like a great deal, and he could have it just by asking for it.

Because it wasn’t just _Dettlaff_. It was Regis, too, and probably all other vampires. They loved unconditionally. Without limits.

That was why Regis had so desperately wanted to save Dettlaff, why he’d been so disgusted by Syanna’s actions. She’d betrayed her pack mate, thrown his fierce-burning love of her back in his face, and caused him so much pain besides.

He _understood_ , and he wanted it for himself. He couldn’t imagine not wanting it.

Regis’ mouth fell open, shock written all over his face.

“I find myself quite overwhelmed,” Regis said, but it was so obvious that he needn’t have bothered.

“Well, I’m gonna nap on your bed,” Geralt said, nodding to the space on the other side of Dettlaff. “There’s probably enough room for the three of us.”

Regis’ tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Seems like the kind of thing packs do,” Geralt added. “When one of them’s hurt.”

“All three of us are hurt,” Regis pointed out. “Contact is healing for vampires. I have some evidence to suggest it has the same effect on humans, too.”

Geralt moved his hands to the buckles of his armour, stripping off the last of what Regis hadn’t and then climbing carefully over Dettlaff to curl up beside him, with his back to the wall.

He reached out to Regis, beckoning him forward.

Regis smiled a small, warm smile, and then undressed as well, stripping down to his underwear efficiently, as Geralt had done.

Geralt had never seen so much of Regis exposed before, but he could have guessed the vampire would be lean and pale, more wiry than either himself or Dettlaff.

“You’re staring, Geralt,” Regis said easily, slipping in under the covers and resting his head against Dettlaff’s other shoulder. He was sleeping peacefully now, silent and still, though thankfully he was still breathing.

Habit, Geralt supposed.

It would have been deeply uncomfortable to sleep next to him if he’d stopped, so he was glad of it.

“Never seen you in your underwear before,” Geralt said. “Figured you wouldn’t mind me looking.”

“I don’t,” Regis said softly. “Geralt…”

“Mm?” Geralt rested a hand on Dettlaff’s chest, letting the slow _thud, thud_ of his heart reassure him that everything was going to be all right.

“You need not feel guilty about this. I was unduly harsh. I _know_ you aren’t careless.”

“There were too many of them,” Geralt said, his shame rushing back to him. “Too many for me, and claws don’t make a lot of difference against spectres. I was desperate.”

Regis nodded. “The situation is serious, then.”

“It is, but I’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“I’m coming with you, this time,” Regis said. “I have a way with spirits.”

Geralt smiled wryly. “Guy solves one haunting and suddenly he’s an expert.”

“If you want to be a part of this pack then you will have to suffer through accepting my help,” Regis said.

“Wasn’t refusing it,” Geralt responded. “Just teasing.”

Impulsively, he reached out to where Regis’ hand was resting on Dettlaff’s arm and took hold of it, squeezing tightly and not letting go.

The look on Regis’ face told him he hadn’t been expecting that.

After a few moments, Regis squeezed back.

Geralt let his eyes fall closed, the last of the adrenaline fading away, and fell asleep.

***

When Geralt woke, it was to the scent of arousal and the sound of two people kissing.

He opened his eyes to find Regis on top of Dettlaff, pressing soft kisses against his mouth and stroking his hair so kindly and warmly that it made Geralt’s heart clench.

The way Regis looked at Dettlaff spoke loud and clear. Regis loved him, with all of his being.

To Geralt’s surprise, Dettlaff grabbed his hand without missing a beat, still kissing Regis eagerly, letting the older vampire soothe and comfort him.

Geralt let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, relieved that Dettlaff was obviously not _too_ mad at him.

Regis paused, turning to look at Geralt with wide eyes, as though he was alarmed that he’d gotten caught.

“Morning,” Geralt said cheerfully, beaming at him.

Regis looked between him and Dettlaff, obviously not sure what to do. He’d been comfortable enough to kiss Dettlaff while Geralt slept, but he was clearly wary now.

With a surge of confidence, Geralt reached out with his free hand, curling his fingers around the back of Regis’ neck, and pulled him in, his heart swelling when Regis didn’t even _try_ to resist.

Something inside him snapped into place as Regis’ lips touched his. Some aching need he’d been carrying so long he’d forgotten about it healed over all of a sudden, making him sigh softly.

How long had he wanted to do this? It was impossible to remember. It felt like a lifetime.

He kept the kiss soft and sweet, mindful that Regis was still on top of Dettlaff, and that all three of them were still a little fragile. This was new, and they still didn’t know where all the edges were.

Dettlaff, for his part, made a soft, happy grunt as Geralt let Regis go, shifting his weight on the bed.

Regis stared. Stared like he’d just been told all the secrets of the universe and had no idea what he might even _begin_ to do with them.

He squeezed Dettlaff’s hand where he was still holding it, turning his attention to the other vampire. “Sorry about last night,” he said.

“My fault,” Dettlaff responded graciously. “I was arrogant. I didn’t believe there was much you could do to hurt me.”

“I should have kept better track of you,” Geralt said. “I was surrounded.”

“And I was afraid,” Dettlaff said. “I was trying to pull you out.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel less guilty?” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“It is supposed to illustrate the depths of my care for you,” Dettlaff said softly.

Geralt swallowed. He’d heard _I’d kill for you_ from Dettlaff, which had been intense enough.

This sounded dangerously like _I’d die for you_ , which was an entirely different thing. Especially for a _vampire_ , whose life was practically infinite.

Unless he managed to get himself killed defending a human.

Like Regis had. For all practical purposes, Regis had been dead. Dettlaff had performed a miracle in bringing him back.

The feeling of being painfully, ridiculously slow hit Geralt in the chest.

Regis had always been in love with him.

And now Dettlaff was, too.

Overwhelming, unconditional love.

“Love you, too,” Geralt said, because it was _true_ , though he wasn’t sure he was capable of loving with as much intensity as a vampire.

All he could do was love them with all his heart, or what was left of it.

“And you,” he looked to Regis meaningfully.

Regis covered his mouth with his hand.

Up to this moment, Geralt hadn’t been sure whether or not vampires could cry. Now, he could see tears shining in Regis’ eyes.

Dettlaff laughed softly. “If I’d known that a minor injury was all it would take for you to hear that, my love, I would have gotten in Geralt’s way much sooner,” he said, reaching out to touch Regis’ cheek.

“I…” Regis swallowed visibly, both of his hands falling to Dettlaff’s chest, playing with the fabric of the shirt he was still wearing. “Would like to request that neither of you get hurt again, though I know this is physically impossible for both of you.”

Geralt shrugged. There wasn’t much he could say to that.

“Once this is solved,” Geralt said. “I’ll take a whole week off.”

Regis chuckled, just short of hysterical. “Ah, well, now I can be sure you _mean_ it,” he murmured, slowly reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. “I have adored you since almost the moment we met,” he added softly.

Geralt was starting to get the impression that vampires either fell in love instantly, or not at all.

Which was fine by him.

“You were trying to kill me when we met,” Dettlaff pointed out. “And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about you when Regis intervened. I had imagined he was exaggerating.”

“The very _notion_ that I would exaggerate about something as terribly important as, for example, the way the afternoon sunlight bounces off Geralt’s eyes…” Regis said, shaking his head, though Geralt suspected he was only half-joking.

“Why didn’t you ever _say_ anything?” Geralt asked. He could have used the reassurance that _someone_ loved him, several times, when he and Regis had been close in the past.

“Fear,” Regis said simply. “Of rejection, and of what I might have _done_ in the light of it.”

“You don’t have nearly enough faith in yourself.” Geralt sighed.

Regis sighed. “And you have always had too much faith in me, and I have come to love you more dearly than my own life because of it,” he murmured, his whole face softening.

Geralt’s heart flipped.

He liked being loved. He _craved_ it, after spending the formative years of his life without it.

How could he _ever_ have said no to Regis?

“Go to him,” Dettlaff murmured, nudging Regis to move.

Geralt watched in awe as Regis climbed gracefully off Dettlaff and on top of him instead, resting his weight ever-so-lightly on Geralt’s hips.

“Geralt,” he said softly, more emotion in that one word than Geralt could ever remember hearing from him before. “If you permit me this, you will never be rid of me.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Geralt murmured, his heart opening up to let Regis in.

Not that it needed to. Regis already had a place there.

“I will _never_ want to let you go,” he said, and Geralt could hear the unspoken: if you thought what Dettlaff did was an overreaction, you would faint to see what I would do in his place.

He could feel it in the way Regis was trembling with barely-contained desire.

And despite everything, regardless of all that he’d ever seen, he _wanted_. Wanted to be with Regis, and Dettlaff, and have that nova-bright love for himself.

He wanted to tuck it away in his heart, where it would be safe, and keep him warm, and he’d never have to feel lost or unwanted again.

“Good,” he said, his voice surprisingly even considering how many _feelings_ he suddenly had, more than he knew what to do with.

Regis made a soft, desperate noise in the back of his throat. Geralt expected him to surge forward, kiss him with all the stored-up desire of years and years of wanting, with all the coiled power of a creature that was the other side of four hundred years old, but… he didn’t.

Instead, he extended one hand and cupped Geralt’s cheek, the touch so soft it was barely there.

Geralt stared at him as he leaned in slowly, expecting that _now_ , Regis would kiss him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in preparation--in _anticipation_. But it still didn’t happen. Regis leaned in, and rested his forehead against Geralt’s, and sighed the softest, most content sigh Geralt had ever heard from anyone.

“Mine,” he said, voice barely loud enough for Geralt to hear, even at this distance.

“Yours,” Geralt responded without conscious thought, the word escaping him as though Regis had simply commanded it, and if Geralt hadn’t trusted Regis as deeply, as _absolutely_ as he did, he would have thought that was exactly what happened.

But it had come from somewhere inside him, some part of him that had never belonged to anyone, and desperately wanted to.

And there was more. There was power crackling around them, not the kind that made his medallion hum, but the kind that made his whole _body_ hum. This wasn’t over. There was…

“Mine?” Geralt said, half-unsure, but again as though he’d been commanded to do it. He just _knew_. He knew like he knew the sun would rise.

“Yours,” Regis responded, the sound more a contented sigh than an actual word, but it… worked, if Geralt could describe it that way. It did _something_.

And some part of Geralt thought it couldn’t have been that simple, that there should have been some ritual with blood and fire and words whispered in a language he couldn’t understand, but…

Then again, why should there be?

He could feel a fine, invisible thread tying him to Regis in his mind, little more than a metaphor that had taken shape. The change was so subtle he would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.

Or perhaps, if he hadn’t so desperately _believed_ it. And maybe that was all it took. The belief that he would always belong to Regis, and Regis would always belong to him.

Regis stayed where he was for a few more moments, breathing slowly and evenly, his weight settling a little more solidly on Geralt.

His cock was rock hard, nestling in the crease of Geralt’s thigh, but then _Geralt’s_ cock was rock hard, too, so he couldn’t judge.

He wasn’t even sure he could call this arousal, but despite its strange newness, he liked it. Liked the way it weighed him down, just a little, gave him something deep in his gut to cling to while his whole world shifted and Regis took up a position in the centre of it.

He was still holding Dettlaff’s hand, and his world was still just a little _off-_ centre.

They’d made this promise to each other, too. Geralt didn’t need to be told that to _know_.

He squeezed Dettlaff’s fingers, a silent reassurance. They came as a pair, and Geralt knew he couldn't have one without the other.

He felt very lucky that they both wanted him.

“You have witchering to do,” Regis said, climbing off Geralt without another word.

The low, strange, not-quite-arousal feeling lurched toward him as he moved away.

Geralt blinked.

“We’re not gonna…?”

Regis raised an eyebrow at him. “You have promised me a full week,” he said, every syllable measured. “I have more than enough patience to simply _wait_.”

Geralt stared.

Beside him, Dettlaff chuckled.

Regis was already busying himself with… something. Something that involved turning his back on the bed as though Geralt hadn’t just felt the entire length of his surprisingly big--and maybe _ridged?--_ cock pressed against him.

“Come on,” Geralt said, nudging Dettlaff to get out of bed. He’d had more than enough time to recover. “We need to solve this so we can go home.”

“You still wish me to come with you?” Dettlaff asked, obviously surprised. “I was a liability last time.”

“You weren’t,” Geralt said, because it was true.

His world was still off-centre.

He knew why.

Dettlaff regarded him from where he’d been more or less unceremoniously shoved, worries about any injuries he might have taken already gone. If Regis wasn’t worried, then Geralt didn’t need to be.

Geralt backed him up against the wall, and Dettlaff went easily, though he could have stopped Geralt at any moment.

A low growl welled up in Geralt’s throat this time. Either he wasn’t supposed to be gentle here, or he wasn’t made to be, but he forced himself to press his forehead against Dettlaff’s instead of crashing into his lips.

He curled a hand around the back of the vampire’s neck, holding him in place.

Dettlaff took all of it without the faintest trace of resistance.

“Mine,” Geralt said, his voice low. It didn’t need to be a question this time. He knew what he wanted.

What he _needed_ , to be back on-balance again.

“Yours,” Dettlaff responded without a hint of hesitation. He said it like he’d been waiting to say it for a long time. Like the word lifted a burden from his shoulders.

Perhaps it did. Geralt was already feeling he lightness of being _sure_ of someone--two someones, in a moment. Dettlaff probably felt it, too.

“Mine,” Dettlaff said, without an ounce of possession. Just soft, intense calm of the sort only a creature who didn’t need to breathe could manage.

Dettlaff _was_ breathing, though, in perfect time with Geralt. Slow, steady breaths, his chest rising and falling with with each one.

“Yours,” Geralt agreed, and the entire world tilted and spun for a moment, forcing him to close his eyes and cling to Dettlaff to remain upright.

When it ended, everything was as it should have been. Centred, grounded, complete in a way Geralt couldn’t quite name, but could _feel_ all the way down to the marrow of his bones.

Behind them, Regis sighed a soft, satisfied sigh. “Much better,” he said, and Geralt didn’t need to wonder if he’d felt it, too.

Geralt pecked Dettlaff on the lips, and then backed away before he could lose the willpower he needed not to push him back onto the bed.

Regis wanted patience? Fine, he could be patient.

“Now you’re motivated,” Geralt said to Dettlaff. “Right?”

Dettlaff nodded. “Right.”

Geralt strode to the door, only pausing with his hand on it when Regis cleared his throat.

“I realise this _is_ Skellige and the locals don’t stand on ceremony, but you will be very cold without your clothes.”

“Oh,” Geralt said, looking down. “Yeah, that.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

It didn’t turn out to be much of a complicated mystery, all said and done. A disgruntled member of Clan Tuirseach, still hurting over Cerys’ rise to the throne, had taken it upon himself to make trouble.

No part of it had been a surprise to Geralt except for the fury with which Regis had pinned the man to the wall and the amount of gentle coaxing necessary to get him to let _go,_ Geralt reminding him that he needed his throat to breathe and he needed to be able to breathe to stand trial.

The man had hurt his pack, and apparently that was the edge of Regis’ limits. No one hurt his pack, not if they wanted to live to see another day.

For once, though, Geralt hadn’t been hired to be executioner. Cerys would take care of that personally.

She’d taken to power well. She’d been brought up in it, he supposed. Watching and learning. Smarter and subtler than her brother.

She reminded him a _lot_ of her father, honour and all, and he was glad to have had a chance to help her with this.

They’d walked away with a promise to come visit when Ciri made an official appearance in a few weeks’ time. Regis had been almost as excited about the possibility as Geralt had been.

Dettlaff bought a horse on the way out of town, a sturdy grey gelding with a white mane. A beautiful horse that he picked up for an entirely reasonable sum.

Geralt decided that it was now Dettlaff's job to negotiate the rate of pay for contracts.

Geralt, realising that he wouldn't be travelling alone, had picked up a few essentials for camping comfortably: warm blankets, bread and cheese to supplement whatever he could catch for dinner, and locally-distilled spirits.

Regis had spent some amount of time petting the still while Geralt had been negotiating, muttering to himself about the craftsmanship. He’d build one of his own soon enough, Geralt was sure.

He looked happy. Peaceful.

As did Dettlaff, who had simply mounted up and followed Geralt’s lead.

Regis appeared beside them occasionally to stuff a handful of something in the saddlebags, but otherwise seemed content to keep off the road.

Geralt suspected he was leaving them alone intentionally, so he planned on taking advantage of it.

“So, you're stuck with me, now…” he began conversationally. Everything had happened so fast, and it _felt_ right, but the dust was still settling.

“I do not feel stuck,” Dettlaff said. “I feel quite freed, in fact.”

Geralt nodded. He felt it, too. There was safety in belonging to a pack.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Same here.”

“You would make a wonderful vampire,” Dettlaff said. “Are you sure-”

“That the witcher mutations don't include any vampire mutagens? Not anymore,” Geralt said. It might actually have explained a lot.

“Ah, Regis has already shared his theory, then,” Dettlaff said.

“Yeah. And I guess it's not impossible. Probably not _higher_ vampire mutagens, though. What kind of higher vampire would just let a witcher have its blood?”

“I would,” Dettlaff said. “If you want it.”

Geralt considered. He didn't _want_ it, exactly, but he wondered if Dettlaff might want him to accept some, anyway. It seemed like the kind of thing vampires did.

“You and Regis share blood,” he said, deciding he needed more information.

“Regis drinks from me,” Dettlaff agreed. “He needs to heal, and I am relatively young and healthy. His abstinence comes at a cost.”

Geralt had suspected as much.

“I suspect you are part vampire, at least, because your blood is not human,” Dettlaff said. “Though perhaps it is merely witcher. The taste is very odd. Not unpleasant. It… fizzes, on the tongue.”

“Huh,” Geralt said. It should have been uncomfortable to be talked about like a delicacy, but he trusted Dettlaff. Dettlaff was just being _honest_.

Regis _had_ said he’d ask for more, and Geralt was happy to give it to him.

“When we set up camp for the night…”

“No,” Dettlaff said, interrupting. “Not when we're out in the open and vulnerable.”

Geralt frowned. “Last time…”

“Last time you were already bleeding and did not get a significant dose of venom,” Dettlaff said, not unkindly. “Enough to act as a mild painkiller, nothing more. If I _bit_ you, it may well render you useless in a fight. Even if I suspect the effects will be mild and brief in your case, I won't take the risk when we are exposed.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a lot like Regis?” Geralt asked, amused at how utterly _sensible_ Dettlaff was being.

Dettlaff looked at him like he’d been paid the highest possible compliment he could imagine. “No,” he said softly, clearly pleased.

Regis would have _loved_ that.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Geralt said, mostly to himself. “I’d probably be dead by now if Regis wasn’t so _sensible_.”

“He really did tell me stories about you, you know,” Dettlaff responded. “All your adventures together, and all the people you met. I… he’s so _fond_ of humans.”

Geralt smiled wryly. “And you don’t get it?”

“I want to understand,” Dettlaff said. “I liked Cerys,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“She liked you, too,” Geralt said honestly. Cerys didn’t care that Geralt’s two mysterious friends were clearly not human, or _wholly_ human, at least. She’d been thrilled to meet them.

Partly because they were people Geralt trusted, and she trusted him, but partly because they were charming. Dettlaff had the added bonus of being classically handsome, with an air of nobility about him.

They rode in silence for a long few minutes as a caravan of merchants went past the other way. Geralt could feel a question hanging between them in the air, but until Dettlaff gathered either his thoughts or courage enough to ask it, he couldn’t even begin to make an answer.

“You don’t regret accepting the pack bond,” Dettlaff said. It wasn’t _quite_ a question, more like the prelude to one.

“No,” Geralt confirmed. He recognised what had happened this morning, now, as swearing an oath of fealty. An oath of blood and honour and love, but love in a visceral, _animal_ way. The kind of love Geralt had no trouble understanding.

It felt good, and clean, and simple. All things Geralt liked.

The world felt just a little brighter and more comfortable, too. Safer, less uncertain. Like, for once, things were going to be okay.

“ _Why?_ ” Dettlaff asked.

Geralt shrugged. “Wolves have packs, too. Or they’re supposed to.”

Dettlaff hummed, apparently considering that answer.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had to accept it?” Geralt asked.

“You didn’t,” Dettlaff said immediately. “Regis had chosen you, and I had accepted that choice already. As a condition of his company.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“He means more to me than my own life.” Dettlaff shrugged. “As he said to you. So my options were to live without him--which would have been intolerable in the long term--or to accept that I would always share him with you. Even if you were not present.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“I am now,” Dettlaff said. “I have also grown fond of you.”

Geralt wet his lips, going back to the thought he’d had this morning.

Dettlaff had practically said he’d die for Geralt. It probably took a little more to _actually_ say it, though.

He was getting that _you mean more to me than my own life_ was vampire for _I love you_. Which was a little more intense than it needed to be, but then Geralt was also getting that vampires were, by their nature, intense.

“It’s not about sex, is it?” Geralt asked. He realised now that he actually had a _ton_ of questions, and maybe Regis was leaving Dettlaff to answer them.

After all, Dettlaff would answer honestly, and like a vampire. Regis would soften the truth, try to make it more palatable for a human. Palatable wasn’t what Geralt needed.

“Of course not,” Dettlaff said. “Neither my fondness for you nor your inclusion among this--our--pack. Packs are families. Chosen or blood, or a combination of the two.”

“So if one of us had children, or… something?”

“They too would belong to the pack, as would their mates, unless they chose not to.”

“So just to be clear, I didn’t actually agree to be your mate this morning, did I?”

Dettlaff shook his head. “Only to extend the same protection and loyalty to Regis and I as we would to you.” He paused. “I say _only,_ but it is a stronger and more important bond. And it means something different to every vampire who enters into it.”

Geralt huffed softly. He wasn’t surprised, and he was pretty sure they’d just come to the part Regis hadn’t wanted to explain himself.

“I was surprised that you were able to truly enter the bond. In the rare cases where a human does, it is more… formality, than anything. Symbolic. But we are connected now, by a real force rather than an imagined one,” Dettlaff added. “Regardless of whether or not your mutations involve vampire mutagens, you are more like us than you might think.”

Geralt turned that thought over in his head, deciding that Regis _definitely_ hadn’t been wrong about him having a lot in common with them.

“I would not object to thinking of you as a mate,” Dettlaff said after another few moments of silence, trying so desperately to sound casual that he only succeeded in giving away how much he meant it.

Something deep in Geralt’s chest fluttered. He laughed, joy welling up inside him, surprised and delighted by Dettlaff’s soft confession.

“Humans just say _I love you_.”

Dettlaff cleared his throat. “Then I love you,” Dettlaff responded. “Are you happy now?”

Geralt chuckled, unable to help himself. “I’m happy now.”

He was, in a way he’d never been before. In a way he couldn’t describe, even to himself. His world was fundamentally different now.

Dettlaff nodded, apparently satisfied with their conversation.

“Thought of a name for the horse, yet?” Geralt asked, sensing that the discussion was over.

Things were as they were, and no one was upset about that, so it really didn’t _need_ to be discussed further.

“I thought I might call him Silver,” Dettlaff said, a smile playing around his lips.

Geralt rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop himself smiling in response. Dettlaff’s sense of humour was just starting to shine through, and it was hard not to enjoy seeing him comfortable.

“Funny,” he said after a moment.

“I thought so.” Dettlaff broke into a grin.

***

Full, happily buzzing, covered in blankets, and flanked by two vampires who’d apparently just realised that he was warm, Geralt rarely remembered being more content to settle down for the night on the road.

Hell, even _off_ the road.

There was no need to take shifts or watch for trouble. Between the three of them, nothing was about to sneak up. Anything that _did_ would regret it, if it lived long enough to form a thought.

Dettlaff, he’d kind of expected to snuggle up eagerly. He obviously liked to be close and warm, as long as he could trust whoever he was cuddling with, and though he _was_ shy, he wasn’t all that shy about asking for what he wanted once he was sure whoever he was asking was safe.

He was, by now, pretty sure of Geralt.

Regis, though, he’d expected to remain as aloof as ever. If Dettlaff was more or less the vampire equivalent of a puppy, Regis was definitely a cat.

Except now Regis was pressing his nose happily against Geralt’s neck, taking deep, slow breaths of Geralt’s scent.

He got that. He’d done it himself, but normally when he thought his partners were asleep. Regis apparently didn’t feel the need to be subtle.

None of which Geralt was about to complain over. He liked to be loved. He _definitely_ liked to have all his body heat preserved for him by two creatures who seemed to be able to suck it all up and then radiate it back.

“A whole week?” Regis asked sleepily, as though he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“I promised,” Geralt said. “And I plan to keep it. I’m not expecting to be bored or anything.”

“Oh, you won’t be,” Regis murmured, his fingers curling lightly into Geralt’s shirt.

Sleeping without armour outdoors was a novelty, but one he could afford now. Having two vampire bodyguards was better than any armour anyone could craft.

“I expect you’ll be exhausted,” Regis continued after a pause. “There are _two_ of us.”

“Think I can’t keep up?” Geralt said, raising an eyebrow.

He probably _couldn’t_ , but that wasn’t the point.

“I think you will be suitably occupied,” Regis said. “And that I will need to acquire a larger bed.”

“Floor’s fine,” Geralt responded, already imagining putting the plush bear skin in front of the fireplace downstairs to good use. He’d been thinking about this a lot, and it was really the only place the three of them would comfortably fit.

“Not for sleeping on.” Regis paused. “You do want… I suppose I shouldn’t assume…?”

The thought that he could have this _every single day_ hit Geralt like a crossbow bolt.

“You’re planning on making a nest,” Geralt said exactly as he realised what was happening.

Dettlaff chuckled.

“I am not so naive that I think I could keep you in one place,” Regis said evenly. “But perhaps I could make one place enticing enough to encourage you to return often.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Geralt said.

It was a surprise to all three of them.

“And if I am,” he continued, realising it as he said the words aloud. “I’m taking you with me. I’m _old_. I’ve fulfilled my destiny. Skellige still has monsters, enough monsters to keep a half-retired witcher occupied for… pretty much ever. This is the only place left for me.”

“Half-retired?” Regis asked, something like hope in his voice.

“You don’t need to sound so excited about me getting old,” Geralt said.

“Forgive me for wanting to see you as much out of harm’s way as possible,” Regis said diplomatically.

“I’m taking Dettlaff with me on contracts,” Geralt responded. Behind him, Dettlaff made a soft sound of approval, shifting his hand a little lower on Geralt’s belly.

Regis chuckled. “I’m beginning to see that I _do_ have a type,” he said. “You two are practically mirror images of each other.”

Geralt could feel Dettlaff grinning against his shoulder, the barest threat of his teeth just grazing Geralt through his shirt.

Lust pooled hot in Geralt’s stomach, tension coiling instantly. Dettlaff made a pleased sound, pressing a kiss to the back of Geralt’s neck.

“Thought you weren’t gonna bite me?” Geralt asked, wondering now if Dettlaff had changed his mind. Would Regis be all right with that?

“I’m not,” Dettlaff said, catching Geralt’s shirt with short claws and inching it up, exposing a strip of skin under the blankets. “That is quite far down the list of things I’m eager to do to you.”

Geralt caught Regis’ eyes, finding them wide and needy. “All out of patience?” Geralt asked, teasing gently, thrilled that he wasn’t going to have to wait any longer.

Regis barely licked his lips, his eyes darting as he looked at Geralt’s face, indecision written all over his features.

Geralt reached out to him, grasping the buckle in the middle of his chest and pulling him closer. “You never fantasised about doing this while we were on the road?”

“Constantly,” Regis said, a shuddering breath escaping him as he reached out to touch Geralt’s cheek. “I imagined you creeping your way over to my bedroll, confessing that you’d seen the way I looked at you, and you _liked_ it, and you wanted…”

“Regis,” Geralt interrupted. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I like it,” he murmured, hissing as Dettlaff shoved his hand into his underwear, stroking the tips of his fingers along Geralt’s cock.

He pulled Regis in by the grip he had on him, sighing happily as their lips crashed together, drinking in the soft, desperate whimper that escaped the vampire. _His_ vampire.

Geralt had always thought of him that way, once he found out. A personal vampire who belonged to him.

And now Regis _was_ his vampire, and he belonged to Regis, too, and he wanted everything.

Dettlaff made a soft, approving hum behind him, pressing his lips to Geralt’s neck reverently, shoving his trousers and underwear down with the hand not wrapped around Geralt’s middle. Geralt moaned as his cock sprang free, torn between rocking toward Regis and rocking back toward Dettlaff, grinding at the hardness he could feel pressing against his ass.

Deciding that the answer was actually to pull both of them toward him, Geralt tightened his grip on Regis and reached back with his free hand to grope at Dettlaff, finding his ass and using his hold on it to drag him in closer, a shiver running through him as he felt the weight of both vampires pressing against him.

“The things I have imagined doing to you,” Regis purred, reaching out to put a hand on Geralt's chest, his claws just barely snagging the fabric of Geralt's shirt, “would no doubt make even a witcher blush.”

“Try me,” Geralt murmured, a rush of heat flowing south at the sound of Regis’ voice. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was getting off on Regis _talking_ , since talking was what Regis did best.

“Later, my love,” Regis murmured, his hand curling around Geralt's cock right as Dettlaff let go, brushing against the exposed skin of Geralt's thigh.

The rustling of fabric behind him was the only warning Geralt got before…

_Well_ …

He liked to think of himself as a man of the world, but Dettlaff’s cock pressing up against his bare skin was enough to make Geralt’s eyes widen.

He’d been right about the ridges.

Geralt swallowed thickly. He suddenly, desperately wanted to see Dettlaff's cock for himself, but he didn't want to turn away from Regis, who seemed less sure of him than Dettlaff did.

The best compromise that came to mind was getting a look at Regis’ cock instead.

Geralt surged forward, sealing his lips over Regis’ again and groping at the buckles and ties of his clothes, working them open with trembling fingers even as Dettlaff slid his cock between Geralt's thighs, rocking lazily between them, dragging every ridge against the sensitive skin there so Geralt could _feel_ them.

Regis made a soft, needy noise as his cock finally sprung free into Geralt’s hand, heavy with blood and warmer than the surrounding skin, warm enough to seem almost human.

Except for the ridges, which he could _definitely_ feel now, and run his fingers over.

“Should've just shown me this,” Geralt murmured against Regis’ lips, smiling to himself. “Explains a lot.”

“Vampiric sex appeal isn't based _entirely_ on our charming personalities,” Regis said, managing to keep his voice even despite Geralt's fingers curling around him, exploring the shape of him.

Dettlaff had slowed his own movements, and Geralt could feel him watching in fascination.

“I’m shocked,” Geralt smirked. “You don’t just _talk_ everyone into bed?”

Regis licked his lips as Geralt started stroking his cock, clearly trying to focus enough to come up with a response, but struggling with it. Dettlaff rocked against him again, spreading sticky precome between his thighs, the head of his cock brushing over Geralt’s entrance.

He definitely wanted to see what the ridges felt like inside him, but not right now. He didn’t have the patience to wait for that, not when he so desperately wanted to feel like he belonged to these two vampires.

“I’ve been told,” Regis began, obviously struggling as Geralt continued to stroke him, a gasp escaping him as he spread precome away from the head of his cock with his thumb, lingering just a little too long as he mapped out where Regis was most sensitive, where it was best to touch him.

“I have been _told_ ,” Regis repeated, “that I’m very good with my mouth.”

Dettlaff chuckled, and the sound was rich and dark and went straight to the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He took that as confirmation that Regis was, in fact, good with his mouth.

Regis’ eyes sparkled with mischief.

Of _course_ he could keep his dry wit, even when he was in the middle of a lazy handjob from a man he’d been in love with for years. This was Regis, after all.

And more to the point, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that vampires in general were a _little_ orally fixated.

“Perhaps I ought to demonstrate?”

Geralt’s entire brain shuddered to a halt.

Regis _laughed at him_ , soft and delighted, and started shuffling his way down Geralt’s body, shoving the fabric of his shirt up to kiss his way down Geralt’s belly, and pausing as he got to eye-level with Geralt’s cock.

“Ah, and now I understand some part of _your_ appeal to the many and varied young ladies who find you so entertaining,” Regis murmured, his breath ghosting over Geralt’s cock.

Dettlaff had completely stilled now, hooking his chin over Geralt’s shoulder to watch, their cheeks pressed together.

Dettlaff’s fingers curled around Geralt’s hip, the points of his claws just barely digging into the sensitive flesh there.

“Isn’t he pretty?” Regis asked, looking up at Dettlaff.

“Very,” Dettlaff rumbled near Geralt’s ear, the sound flowing down his spine and pooling in his belly as heat and want and need. He’d shifted so his cock was nestled in the cleft of Geralt’s ass, still thick and hard and warm, just like Regis’.

An image of taking both of them--one in his mouth, one in his ass--flashed through Geralt’s mind, and he knew as soon as he thought it that he _wanted_ it. Later, though.

Right now, Regis was pressing soft little kisses to the delicate skin of Geralt’s belly, just barely avoiding his cock, and Geralt couldn’t even squirm because Dettlaff’s grip on his hip was like having an iron bar across it.

As far as Geralt knew, they’d never shared a lover before, but they were obviously in tune enough with each other to know _how_.

That, he suspected, was going to come back to bite him over the next week. But in the best possible way.

He cried out as Regis finally sealed his lips over the head of his cock, his hands flying to Regis’ hair. He had to force himself not to pull, not until he’d asked if Regis liked that, anyway, and right now, the power of speech was being gently sucked out of him by way of his cock.

Dettlaff had chosen that moment to suck on Geralt’s _neck_ , as well, teasing mercilessly, still holding Geralt’s hips still so all he could do was sob as Regis swallowed him down, and right about then was the moment when Geralt remembered that Regis didn’t need to _breathe_.

The sound he made as he sucked Geralt’s cock all the way into his throat left Geralt having to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself coming immediately, and then Regis doubled down by demonstrating _just_ how strong he was.

It was like being trapped in a warm, wet vice, almost bordering on _too_ tight, and oh dear gods Geralt was about to be absolutely _ruined_ for sex with humans. Nothing he’d ever had before compared to this.

Dettlaff’s cock slid between his thighs again, slick with precome, and Geralt sobbed with pleasure as the head nudged at his balls, dragged over the sensitive spot behind them, and teased his hole right at the end of the stroke.

He was going to die like this, pressed between two vampires, his heart giving out on him because it was all too _much_.

Regis _laughed_ around him, and that was unfairly good, and Geralt was so close he could taste it in the air. A handful more of Dettlaff’s confident thrusts between his thighs and Regis’ throat contracting around him, and then suddenly he was coming down Regis’ throat and that probably wasn’t all that polite but it was _way_ too late to do anything about it now.

Geralt panted, his chest heaving, as Regis made a soft, happy noise, pulled back, and then started licking him clean.

Maybe it was polite for vampires. Maybe Regis didn’t care about Geralt being polite.

Geralt didn’t have the capacity to ask, too busy melting between Dettlaff’s suddenly much more urgent and purposeful than they had been, and the way Regis was slowly working his way back up Geralt’s chest, pressing soft, eager little kisses against his oversensitive skin.

When Regis _finally_ got to eye level, Geralt fisted his hand in the vampire’s hair and pulled him in, crushing their lips together, licking into Regis’ mouth to taste himself there. He reached down to stroke Regis’ cock again, but Dettlaff had beaten him to it, his hand curling around Regis with all the familiarity in the world.

The thought made Geralt shiver with another wave of lust, and if he hadn’t _just_ come, he would have been hard all over again at the thought of being wedged between two vampires who knew each other’s bodies more intimately than was even _possible_ for a human, and who were suddenly both interested in him.

He moved his hand back to Regis’ hair instead, stroking through it as he kissed him again, his chest tight with how damned _good_ this felt.

Dettlaff _did_ bite down on Geralt’s shoulder as he came, but with blunt, human teeth that didn’t break the skin, and Geralt swallowed Regis’ soft, desperate little cry of pleasure as he followed him over, his heart clenching at how surprisingly sweet it all was.

Regis’ dark eyes sparkled with obvious joy when Geralt pulled back to catch his breath.

Behind him, Dettlaff nuzzled the back of his neck.

And all three of them were sticky, and spent, and a whole lot more relaxed than they had been five minutes ago, and _now_ , Geralt was positive he’d never been happier about sleeping outdoors.

“You are even more incredible than I imagined you would be,” Regis said, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. He paused to stroke Geralt’s cheek, holding his gaze for long moments.

“Not so bad yourself,” Geralt forced out, his head still spinning.

Dettlaff took his hand, lacing their fingers together and letting both of their arms rest along Geralt’s thigh. He sighed a soft, contented sigh, and snuggled just a little closer, warming Geralt’s back.

Dettlaff, of course, had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t hidden away his feelings at any point, and had never been concerned about rejection. In a lot of ways, his lack of concern about human social conventions made him _easier_ to get along with.

Which might have only been true for Geralt, because he wasn’t necessarily great with humans, either.

Vampires, though, he could definitely get used to.

“The barest taste of what a vampire can do to a lover,” Regis murmured, also shifting just a little closer to Geralt. “I plan to wear you out so thoroughly your forget your own name.”

Geralt swallowed. He believed Regis could do that, if he wanted to.

A soft laugh told him that Dettlaff would _help_.

And right now, he couldn’t think of any reason to object.

“Can’t wait to let you try.” Geralt smiled. “Wake me in a few hours and we’ll head out,” he said, though he was in no particular hurry.

After all, he was already home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic originally ended here, but there's another chapter coming tomorrow that serves as something of an epilogue.


	7. Chapter 7

As promised, Regis managed to make Geralt blush almost immediately once they were on a bed, flipping him over and _licking_ him open, and his surprisingly strong, flexible tongue had been _inside_ Geralt, and he was never ever going to be able to look at Regis’ mouth the same way again.

That wasn’t even the worst of it.

The ridges had been as incredible as Geralt imagined, especially when Regis had paused before every one to start with, forcing Geralt to feel them as they slipped inside him, and again on the way out. It took him less than five minutes to turn Geralt into a sobbing, needy, begging mess, and Geralt didn’t even _care_ , because no one had ever fucked him like this, with so much care and patience and focus.

He loved Regis so much.

Not _just_ for his incredible cock, or his complete shamelessness when it came to sex--now that he was convinced he was allowed to touch, and that Geralt wanted everything he was willing to give--but…

Well, those things definitely didn’t _hurt_.

Except in the best possible way.

Gods he was sore.

But also, not about to complain, except if complaining was likely to result in a vampire-firm massage that worked out all the kinks in his muscles, some that were years old.

Right now, Regis had his chest pressed to Geralt's back, his cock inside him, still hard despite the fact that he’d already come--and were vampires just _made_ for sex, or what?--petting Geralt’s absolutely spent cock lightly.

Dettlaff lay facing them, stroking himself unhurriedly, his gaze roving over both of them.

The bed, as far as Geralt was concerned, was exactly the right size. They didn't all fit in it without being at least partly on top of each other.

Which was perfect, because right now he never wanted to be out of contact with at least one vampire.

“You are stunning,” Dettlaff murmured, wetting his lips.

“Beautiful,” Regis agreed. “Are you all right, my love? You're very quiet.”

“Compared to _you_ ,” Geralt mumbled. He was exhausted, but he really didn't mind being that way, especially considering how he’d gotten that way.

He’d promised Regis a week, and two days in he was more worn out than if he’d been off taking contracts.

This was more fun, though. And it'd definitely keep him fit between jobs. Positions that required no particular effort for a vampire could still be a helluva workout for a witcher.

Thankfully, Regis knew the limits of the human body well, and hadn’t pushed _too_ hard.

When Geralt was too exhausted to continue, Regis and Dettlaff entertained each other.

Geralt had teased them about it, and then they’d turned around and said that normally they’d be satisfied, but his mere _presence_ was so arousing that not taking care of each other would have been outright uncomfortable.

And Geralt had blushed again, though he wasn't sure that Regis had meant he’d just embarrass him by telling him that he was basically a living, breathing aphrodisiac for both of them.

“Ah, you _are_ all right then,” Regis laughed, nuzzling behind Geralt's ear. “You should rest, my love. I won't go anywhere.”

Geralt was blushing again, all right, and this was _definitely_ a point in Regis’ favour.

“You mean you're gonna… stay, uh…”

“Inside you? Mm,” Regis said. “For a while, at least. I’d like you to fall asleep like this.”

Geralt swallowed. He _really_ wanted that.

“Sounds good,” he murmured, sleep already threatening to take him.

Five more days of this was going to be… intense.

“Do I get a goodnight kiss?” he asked Dettlaff, aiming at teasing, but falling short of the mark by a long way and coming off as nervously sincere.

Dettlaff shuffled closer, brushing his nose against Geralt's at first. “As many and as often as you like,” Dettlaff said, and Geralt could _definitely_ see why people kept falling in love with him.

Geralt hummed softly, parting his lips just a little for Dettlaff, letting him take control of the kiss.

It was nice to be taken care of, and it was just starting to sink in for Geralt that he had two immortal lovers who were both inclined to _do_ that, forever, because they liked him and wanted him around.

That was better than the sex.

Not that he had _any_ complaints about the sex.

He fell asleep with Dettlaff's lips pressed against his, and Regis still inside him, and the general sense that everything was right in the world.

***

The week off Geralt had promised Regis lasted for ten days, and only ended because of a local villager standing under the bedroom window and screaming _Master witcher! Master witcher!_ so loudly that none of them could ignore it.

As it turned out, there was a basilisk attacking the village.

Geralt groaned as he got out of bed on unsteady legs, Regis reaching after him, still half asleep and not happy that his favourite and most comfortable pillow had been taken away from him.

Dettlaff woke completely as soon as Geralt touched his shoulder, misting his way into his clothes and then watching Geralt as though he was painfully slow and would benefit from learning how to turn himself into a mist, as well.

Not that Geralt _didn't_ think that would be useful, but he wasn't quite the right species for it, despite Dettlaff's continued insistence that he made an excellent vampire.

“I'm gonna kite it back here,” Geralt said, grabbing his crossbow once he’d pulled on pants and a shirt. “Head outside and be ready to draw it away so I can get a clear shot.”

Dettlaff nodded, his eyes already glittering.

Under other circumstances--ones where people weren't at risk of getting eaten--Geralt would have laughed at the thought that if Dettlaff could hunt and fuck all day every day, he’d be a very happy vampire.

Hell, Geralt would have been a pretty happy witcher, for that matter.

He raced down to the village, barefoot, and came face-to-face with a large, angry basilisk.

A female, Geralt's brain told him. Was it mating season? No, that had to be over by now, it was too warm.

At least he probably wouldn't end up with _two_ of them.

He whistled at her, taking an automatic step back as her eyes widened with interest.

“Hey,” he called, loading a crossbow bolt and readying himself to leap out of the way. “You woke me up.”

The basilisk blinked at him, and then _lunged_.

Geralt rolled out of the way, groaning as his muscles protested. If anything, he’d spent the last ten days doing too _much_.

This was going to be easy in comparison, minus the part where the basilisk wouldn’t care all that much about hurting him.

Although, he did have a few _spectacular_ bruises that he’d enjoyed getting.

Now that he had the basilisk’s full attention, he bolted. Straight for a clearing near the house Regis was nesting in--and he was taking that seriously, filling it up with all manner of soft, warm surfaces he could tackle a witcher onto whenever he felt like it.

Dettlaff had been laughing at him until Geralt took advantage of the much sturdier dining chairs Regis had gotten from who _knew_ where to sit in his lap and ride him, and then… then he’d started helping.

Now Geralt was laughing at _both_ of them, but he had no plans to get them to stop what they were doing. As much as he teased that he wasn’t sure he was anything more than a new toy to the two of them, he knew he was a lot more than that.

_And_ a new toy, but considering how long vampires lived, he figured they probably wouldn’t get tired of him for a few centuries yet.

“Dettlaff,” Geralt bellowed, unsure where his vampire backup had gotten to. “Now would be a great time.”

A streak of red rushed forward, launching itself into the air and knocking the pursuing basilisk off-course.

“Keep it occupied,” Geralt instructed, but he could hear a crowd gathering behind him. _Great_.

Dettlaff had hit the ground in human form and would have to _stay_ that way, now that people could see him.

Which meant it was just Geralt, in bare feet, with a half-laced shirt and a thin pair of trousers as his only protection, wielding a crossbow he only had the one bolt for.

Shit.

Dettlaff deftly avoided the basilisk’s venom as it spat at him, not that it would have done him all that much harm. Even Geralt had taken a face full of it and lived to tell the tale.

Geralt took a deep breath, aiming his crossbow at the basilisk. He only had one shot at this, and he needed to at _least_ wound it enough to scare it away.

“Put that down,” Regis said from behind him, his tone firm and definitely _not_ to be argued with.

He was carrying something under his arm.

On closer inspection, it was an egg. A basilisk egg.

_Ohh_.

That made a lot of sense, actually. They didn’t usually crash their way through random villages for no reason.

Geralt watched in silence as Regis approached the basilisk, holding the egg out, and clicking and growling in ways that a human couldn’t possibly have accomplished.

Not, Geralt figured, that the crowd would know or care about that. Not when Regis was just _walking up to a basilisk_ , and the basilisk was letting him.

There was a strange exchange between the two of them as Regis put the egg down in front of it, and the basilisk sniffed it, then snorted in Regis’ direction, and then took off, grabbing the egg along the way and heading back toward the nearby mountains, presumably back to her den.

The crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief, and began to disperse.

That was, until Regis marched toward a travelling merchant with fury in his eyes, grabbing the man by the collar.

Geralt tended to think of Regis as a man who had nearly infinite patience, but that patience ran very short when either Geralt or Dettlaff were at risk, and they had _both_ been.

Dettlaff appeared at Geralt’s back, a solid presence behind him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed, just lightly, just enough to let Geralt know he was all right.

“He is _glorious_ when he’s angry,” Dettlaff said, amusement in his voice.

Geralt couldn’t exactly argue. There was definitely something about Regis when he _did_ finally lose his carefully-controlled temper.

Regis was busy lecturing the merchant about the danger of trading in the young of large, wild creatures for whom he was approximately snack-sized, and the sheer stupidity of bringing that risk down on others by taking the egg of a still-living basilisk into a populated area.

By the time he was done, the merchant was stuttering and nodding, obviously concerned that, despite his artfully non-threatening appearance, Regis would do him some harm if he didn’t apologise profusely and promise never to do it again.

Geralt believed he wouldn’t. If he’d gotten a lecture like that from Regis about something, he wouldn’t even have _thought_ about doing it again.

Once the merchant had made his escape and the crowd had lost interest in Regis’ miraculous dealings with the basilisk, Geralt breathed a sigh of relief.

Right up until Regis turned on him and stalked toward him, still clearly not happy.

“And _you_ ,” Regis said, poking a finger into Geralt’s chest. “You stupid, beautiful, noble man, _you_ are not to rush out to fight anything, not even a _drowner_ , half-dressed and practically unarmed. It is my responsibility to protect you, but it is also your responsibility _to this pack_ not to put yourself in danger unnecessarily.”

Geralt swallowed, torn between feeling guilty and being desperately aroused by the way Regis was growling at him.

Dettlaff said nothing, which was probably wise, because Regis wasn’t mad at _him_ yet.

“Kicking me out?” Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised.

Regis’ face softened, and he looked over his shoulder to be sure they were alone once again before reaching out touch Geralt’s cheek. “Of course not,” he said, much calmer, love and want and need shining in his dark eyes now.

“I will insist you make a proper apology, though,” he added, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looked Geralt up and down.

“Got anything in mind?” Geralt smirked, knowing he was already forgiven and more than happy for Regis to drag him back to bed.

“Many dozens of things,” Regis said. “For the moment, I will settle for checking you over for injuries. Come along.”

Geralt followed without a moment’s hesitation, excitement dancing in the pit of his stomach.

***

Checking him over for injuries, as it turned out, actually involved Regis pinning him to the bed and kissing every inch of Geralt’s skin, pausing occasionally to suck a bruise into it, which meant that, on the other side of an hour, Regis had done significantly more damage than Geralt’s earlier encounter had, which had left him with one minor scrape from when he’d had to duck and roll out of the way.

Regis sucked his cock again when he was done, which had turned out to be one of his favourite things to do to Geralt. Dettlaff had explained, with his usual amount of tact--absolutely none--that this was the next best thing to blood in terms of sharing fluids with a partner, with none of the potentially addictive qualities.

Or at least, no particular side-effects, except for Regis napping peacefully against Geralt’s thigh, one hand splayed possessively over his belly.

“He adores you,” Dettlaff said fondly, wrapping his arms around Geralt from the other side of the bed. “Even if I did not feel the same way, I would be thrilled to see him so content.”

Geralt hummed, reaching out to pet Regis’ hair.

“How about you? Are you happy?”

“Very,” Dettlaff said, nuzzling Geralt’s hair.

He’d taken to brushing it for him, which Geralt had tried to pretend he didn’t absolutely love for about thirty whole seconds before giving in. He was happy for Dettlaff to have a thing for his hair if it meant he’d brush it for an hour before bed.

The sex was great--and it _was_ great, Geralt had absolutely no complaints about that--but the _love_. That was the part that still sent Geralt reeling, that left him amazed day after day.

He’d never been loved like this. He doubted many people had. There were only so many vampires to go around, after all, and he’d claimed two of them for himself.

He wasn’t letting them go, either.

“Yeah,” he said after a few more moments. “Me, too.”

Laughter rumbled in Dettlaff’s chest, low and rich and warm, wrapping itself around Geralt’s heart and settling there.

He could definitely get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's your lot for this one! Thank you for coming along on this little trip through utter self-indulgence with me, it's meant the world <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Plectere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942574) by [raininginjuly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raininginjuly/pseuds/raininginjuly)




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